The Real Man Smiles in Trouble
by Marla Fair
Summary: Joe is attacked. At first it seems the motive was robbery, but all too soon it becomes clear that something devastating has happened to the youngest Cartwright son. As the truth comes out the Cartwright men face a challenge none of them could have conceived; one that calls upon them to look deep within themselves to find a way to save Joe. WARNING: May not be for sensitive readers
1. Part One

**This story is rated PG-13 for adult situations and themes including** _ **strong**_ __ **sexual innuendo, abusive behavior, violence and brutality. It contains mild adult language.** _ **WARNING:**_ **this story may not be appropriate for younger or more sensitive readers.**

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The Real Man Smiles in Trouble

ONE

Adam Cartwright sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat rolled off his tanned skin, wetting the linens, as a tremor of fear shuddered though him. He remained where he was for several seconds, his heart hammering in his chest and his knuckles white where they gripped the scrunched bedclothes, and then shifted and tossed off the coverlet. Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood up. Unnerved, Adam walked to the window and looked out, seeking to find some order in the world of nature outside. He had a vague memory of the night terror he had awakened from, but 'vague' was the word. Only an impression remained of the desperate moment that had jolted him back to reality – someone he loved was going to die and there was nothing he could do. He wasn't sure who it was, but he thought it might have been Joe.

Adam sighed and ran a hand along the back of his neck. Of course, it was Joe – who else would he feel _that_ protective of?

His relationship with his youngest sibling was complicated, and that complication often engendered hard feelings. They'd knocked heads more times than he cared to count from the time his little brother had been old enough to walk. The problem was, most of the time he felt more like Joe's second father than his brother. It'd been that way since he was born. Adam pursed his lips and shook his head. They'd had some knockdown drag-outs over the years, arguing and fighting over everything from Joe's penchant for swordplay to his inevitable raucous and often dangerous nights on the town.

He had to admit, though, that those were the times he enjoyed the most, the times when he pushed his little brother to the edge and watched Joe mature before his eyes, watched him make mistakes and, occasionally – just occasionally – show _him_ how wrong he was. They were so different, the three of them, with their different mothers, and yet there was a common tie that bound them all. That was their pa, of course. Turning so he was facing into the room, Adam sat half-on and half-off the window sill. The only reason for the night terror he could come up with was that he was worried about Joe because his brother was late getting home. They had expected Joe before the sun went down and now, here it was, four o'clock in the morning and he still hadn't showed. At least, he thought he hadn't. Then again, he hadn't checked Joe's room since going to bed so there was no knowing if he _had_ come in. For a minute Adam struggled with himself. It was hard for him to think of Joe as a man, but that's what his baby brother was – or at least was _becoming._ He really _shouldn't_ go down the hall and open Joe's door to peek in and see if he was in bed. Really, he shouldn't.

Of course, he would.

After pulling his burgundy robe on over his nightshirt, Adam padded down the hall silently in his bare feet. He hesitated outside of Joe's room and considered what he would say if Joe _was_ behind the door and awake. He wanted his brother to know that he trusted him and that he _did_ think of him as a man, albeit a young inexperienced one. Acting like a nursemaid wasn't going to go very far toward accomplishing that goal _or_ gaining Joe's confidence. As the black-haired man stood there, debating his course of action, he heard the front door of the ranch house open. A moment later he heard voices as well. Apparently Pa had been as concerned as him and had waited up for Joe, probably in the big blue chair by the fire. Adam laughed. That chair should have been threadbare and broken down by now considering all of the long hours their father had occupied it waiting for one or all of them to show.

When he heard footsteps on the stair, Adam backed into the shadows. He watched his brother as he appeared at the top still dressed in his work clothes. Joe was angry, he could tell. Probably because their father had waited up for him. Joe was nearing twenty and, to him, he was past the age where their pa should be tapping his toe and counting the minutes until he came in.

Adam snorted. Good luck with that one. Their pa still waited up on _him!_

As Joe moved slowly down the corridor toward his room, he decided to say nothing. Little brother would think he had been waiting up too, and from the look of him talking would do little, if any good. Joe's lithe form was rigid with anger. His fingers opened and closed in controlled rage. When he came to his door, he gripped the knob with force, his knuckles going white. Then, suddenly, all motion ceased. Joe just stood there. A moment later, with a sigh, his brother rested his forehead on the door.

Adam hesitated. Then, carefully and silently as he could, he edged back toward his own room. Once there he reached back and opened the door noiselessly and then closed it, making a deliberate sound.

Joe's head jerked up as Adam stepped into the light that spilled into the corridor and yawned. Blinking, he asked, "You just getting home, Joe?"

His brother turned toward him, his jaw tight. "What's it to you?"

"Whoa, boy!" Adam said, holding up a hand. "I'm just asking."

"So how come _you're_ waiting up for me?"

"I wasn't waiting up for you," the black-haired man answered. "I was heading downstairs for something to eat. You just _happened_ to be in corridor – fully dressed. Make's a man wonder."

Joe grimaced. "Sorry, Adam."

"Pa give you a dressing down?" he asked with a half-smile.

His brother nodded.

"May I _ask_ what you _were_ doing out until four o'clock in the morning?"

Joe's green eyes flashed. "It's none of your business."

"No, it's not." He shrugged. "Pardon me for showing interest in my brother."

Joe stared at him hard. "If you gotta know, I was at the Bucket of Blood playing poker with Jude and Beck."

Adam resisted the urge to say 'oh', because he knew an entire dictionary would be contained in that one word.

His little brother's jaw set. "Are you gonna tell me Jude's not the 'right' kind of company a young man should keep too?"

Adam had considered it, but quickly dismissed any such discussion as pointless. He'd been a hotheaded young man once too – though not nearly as fiery as Joe – and he knew how much good it had done for his father to tell him _he_ did not approve of the company he was keeping.

Little to none.

Adam answered honestly. "Joe, I have to admit that Jude's not one of my favorite people."

He didn't know why. There was just something about Jude. He was a newcomer to the town and from what he had heard, had spent most of his life as a drifter. Still, so had about half of their ranch hands.

Adam's hazel eyes flicked to Joe's face. His brother's handsome countenance was marred by a frown. It seemed to him that baby brother was making deliberate choices meant to challenge what their father expected of him. It was almost as if, by befriending a man their pa disapproved of, Joe thought he was proving something.

Heaven only knew what!

Adam drew a breath. "Joe, I could lecture you like Pa, but I'm not going to. I'm _not_ your father and you 're old enough to make your own choices. I just hope they're wise ones."

Joe remained silent a moment. During the interval some of the tension left his slight frame. When he spoke, it was to ask a question. "Why does Pa hate Jude so much?"

"I don't think Pa hates Jude, Joe. It's just that he doesn't know him – or the company he keeps." Adam paused. "You said Bexley was with you too?"

"Yeah, he was there."

Bexley was a friend of Jude Lowery's. "Sounds like you might be none too fond of Bexley yourself."

Joe shrugged. "He's okay. Jude likes him."

At that moment the sound of someone mounting the stairs drew their attention. Adam turned toward it to find their father approaching.

"Are you still up, young man?" the older man asked in a stern tone as he looked at Joe. "Lack of sleep will be no excuse for chores left undone."

"I'll be up with the sun, pa," his brother answered a bit sullenly.

"See that you are. I expect you to go looking for those strays bright and early." It was only then the older man noticed him. "Adam?"

"I couldn't sleep, Pa. I was heading down for some food when I ran into Joe." Adam smiled. "I'll be up bright and early too."

Their father nodded. "Remember, Adam, I need you to attend that town meeting tomorrow night since Hoss and I will be gone."

Their father and brother were heading out that day to Winnemucca to look at a batch of horses. They expected them to be gone at least a week. "Yes, sir. I'll remember."

The older man pursed his lips and then turned on Joe. "Joseph, I want you to go with your brother."

Joe looked like he'd had all of the air let out of him. "Do I have to, Pa? The Doc could bottle those meetings and make a fortune He could use them to put a man to sleep!"

"Yes, you _have_ to. A sense of civic duty is something a man needs to cultivate. We are not islands, son. We are all connected."

"Tell you what, Joe," Adam said, "we'll go to the meeting and then head to the Bucket of Blood to sample _their_ medicine before we head home."

"Don't encourage him, Adam."

"I won't, Pa," he said. "It will be a reward for Joe's for good behavior. Won't it, Joe?"

His brother was being stared down by their father. Joe shrugged. "What he said, Pa."

"I don't want to hear of any trouble when I come back. Is that clear to _both_ of you?"

"We'll be innocent as doves, Pa," Adam said from his perch on the top step.

Joe nodded.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then," he harrumphed . "Goodnight, Adam. Joe."

"Night, Pa," they said in chorus.

Adam waited until their father had closed the door to his room and Joe entered his own before moving to the stairs. As he reached the bottom a soft voice called down to him from the second floor landing. "Night, Adam. Sorry about everything."

He turned back to find Joe standing at the top of the staircase. "No problem, Joe. Go get some sleep. See you in the morning."

Joe smiled his cock-eyed smile. One eye winked and then he disappeared into the shadows.

Adam remained where he was for a moment, thinking, and then headed to the kitchen.

Hopefully he had time to raid the larder before Hop Sing woke up.

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The day moved along at a breakneck pace. It started with rounding up stray cattle and passed through payroll for the hands, dealing with an argument, making lists of supplies to pick up in town and repairing tackle to early evening quicker than a wagon drawn by spooked horses. Adam stepped back and looked at his image in the mirror. Since he was representing their father at the town meeting, he felt he needed to look his best and so had chosen his Sunday clothes to wear. He was dressed now in his best white shirt and black pants and boots. A gray jacket lay on the bed that he intended to pull on before leaving the house. His gun belt also lay on the bed and there it would remain. Side arms wouldn't be necessary at the meeting and he didn't want to appear too intimidating. They had enough people in town already who resented them.

And then there was Joe again, who might start shooting just to liven things up.

As he finished tying his necktie, Adam crossed to the door. Sticking his head into the hall, he called, "Ten minute warning, Joe!"

His brother stepped out of his room dressed to the nines in the pin-striped brown suit he had that was the color of his well-controlled – well, at the moment – brown curls.

"Brother, that makes you ten minutes behind," Joe replied, raising one eyebrow while his lips curled in a smile.

Adam shook his head. It was no wonder his baby brother turned the lady's heads. Joe was a good-looking man. His mother had been a small-boned, fragile beauty who, even though she proved herself by coming to Nevada and helping to forge the Ponderosa, projected softness and a need to be taken care of. Joe had inherited both traits. Unlike their father, him, and Hoss, Joe had a slight build and a way about him that made him appear vulnerable. It was part of the reason he won so many fights. Large, muscular, and tough men looked on Joe and thought he was an easy mark – until they ran into his fists and were startled by his speed both in fighting and drawing a gun. He'd watched it happen when Joe was little. He couldn't count the times he'd been sent to the schoolhouse to retrieve his brother from the corner where his temper and impulsive nature had placed him, and found him with a black eye or split lip – or worse. The usual scenario was that some big boy had challenged him and Joe had fought back, coming close to or taking the bully out, and then the bully's friends had decided that they would take _Joe_ out.

No wonder their father's hair was turning white.

"Adam?"

He had forgotten Joe was standing there, waiting for an answer. "Sorry. If you're ready, why don't you go down and saddle the horses? I won't be long."

"Sounds like a plan," Joe grinned.

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They left for Virginia City eight minutes later, just as the sun hit the horizon and began to cast long shadows over the land. The ride was an enjoyable one, not too cool for late fall.

The meeting was another matter. Adam nodded his head yet again in acknowledgment as one of the men that mattered filtered past him, heading for home. He would definitely not have described the evening as 'enjoyable'. Sometimes he wondered about people. You could see them on the street by themselves five minutes before they gathered in a crowd and they were sensible, likable men. But put them all together and some sort of mob mind was created. There had been arguments and heated discussions over the most inconsequential things from whose time the mule hauling bricks had died on – the mule owner's or the customer's – to what color to paint the steeple on the church, white or _gray_ white.

Adam threw Joe a look intended to say, _'I need that drink more than you do and we will get the Hell out of here as quickly as we can'._ Joe didn't get it. He was sitting in the corner with his hat pulled down over his eyes either asleep or pretending to be.

"You tell that father of yours when he gets back that I need to see him!" one of their closest neighbors insisted as he came abreast him and pointed a finger at his chest. "Couldn't Ben have waited until the meeting was over to go look at those horses?"

Adam stifled a sigh and then told a lie. "The man with the horses was moving on day after tomorrow. Pa had no choice." While it was true the man was moving on, his horses weren't. Pa _could_ have stayed for the meeting and then headed out.

After sitting through it, he knew why his father had bolted.

The other man grunted his disapproval as he headed for the door. Adam was just about to call Joe and tell him he was ready to leave for the saloon when he spotted yet another irate neighbor making a beeline for him.

It was the man who owned the mule.

"Joe!" Adam called loudly before he could be bowled over. "Joe!"

His brother started and then stirred. A second later Little Joe lifted his hat and looked at him.

The little traitor – he _had_ been asleep!

"What is it, Adam?" his brother asked as dropped the chair legs to the floor and rose.

"Looks like I am about to get cornered again. Why don't you go to the saloon and get a table and order two beers? I'll follow as soon as possible."

Joe looked down at his suit and then looked up with a lop-sided grin. "I'm gonna feel awful silly stepping into the saloon when I'm the only one dressed prettier than a city slicker."

"So take your coat off and fall in the mud."

His brother blinked. Then he laughed. "I might just do that. But don't you forget to do the same before you come in. I can't have the girls looking at you because _you're_ prettier."

Adam waved him off. Then, as Joe headed for the door, that father instinct rose in him. "Joe?"

His brother turned back, the smile gone. "I know, don't get into any trouble."

That _had_ been what he was going to say, but he amended it. "That too. I was actually going to tell you to order _two_ beers each." He glanced at the mule-owning neighbor who had nearly made his way through the crowd to his side.

"I think I am going to need it."

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Joe Cartwright halted outside the Bucket of Blood. He glanced again at his attire. While he was dressed fine for the hotel or one of the palaces, the Bucket of Blood was a haven of hard-living and harder drinking coal miners and cowboys. There were men, from time to time, who came in wearing suits, but it always caused heads to turn. The man with the curly brown hair grinned. Of course, that _could_ be a good thing when it was the saloon girls' heads that did the turning. There were a couple of younger ones who were pretty as a fine filly. He'd been working on the one named Phoebe for a while. He remembered from his schooling that she was named after Phoebe, the Greek goddess of brilliance.

Her parents had got it right.

Phoebe Bird Howath was nearly as tall as him, with a slim little waist a man could circle with two hands. She had curly golden-red hair the color of the sunrise and pale, perfect skin with rose petal lips and pale pink cheeks. Her eyes were the most extraordinary blue, like a mountain pool reflecting a cloudless sky. Not surprisingly, Phoebe's favorite color was sapphire blue and she usually wore it when working.

He hoped she was working tonight.

With a last glance at the town hall to see if Adam had emerged yet, Joe stepped up on the wooden deck and passed through the swinging doors and into the saloon. He raised the barkeep's eyebrows by ordering four beers and then went to sit at a corner table in the gaming room. Catching the eye of one of the saloon girls, Joe asked her to send Adam his way when she saw him. The Bucket was ripping and roaring since it was a Saturday night and most of the mines and spreads paid their men on Friday or Saturday morning. He usually enjoyed all the noise and chatter, but he was tired tonight after having had only a few hours of sleep. After taking a swig of beer Joe shoved his chair against the wall and leaned his head back and waited for Adam's arrival.

Sometime later the sound of a chair being drawn back from the table woke him up. "Did I miss the wedding, Cartwright?" a man asked, his tone jovial.

Joe opened his eyes and blinked several times in an attempt to clear the sleep away. He found Bexley Lanahan seated across from him.

"Beck, hey." Joe frowned as he pulled at his brown coat. "You mean this? Pa made Adam and me go to the town hall meeting. We had to dress the part of the 'spoiled' Cartwright boys."

Bexley eyed one of Adam's mugs. "Mind if I do?"

Joe shook his head. "I don't know what's keeping older brother, but he's long overdue. I'll order him a new one. Say," he nodded toward the main room, "have you seen Phoebe tonight?"

The other man frowned. "Which one's Phoebe? That old one with the missing teeth?"

He snorted. "The pretty redhead who wears dark blue most of the time."

" _Golden_ red hair? Curly?"

"Yep."

"I think she's working the late shift for some reason. Should make an appearance any time." Bexley took another sip. "It looks good."

Joe frowned. "What looks good?"

"The suit. It's the first time I've seen you in anything but work clothes. You're a handsome man, Joe Cartwright."

With his brows furrowed, Joe responded. "Thanks. I think."

Bexley laughed. "I didn't mean anything by it, other than you'll have no trouble bringing Phoebe – or any of the other pretty girls for that matter – to the table."

"No problem," he replied.

"You sound a little bit jealous, Bexley," his brother Adam said, startling them as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Nah. I don't like the ones he likes anyhow." Bexley looked at Joe and smiled. "I'm gonna go join in the poker game out front. You coming?"

Adam shook his head. "Joe, no."

"Is Jude coming?" his brother asked Bexley.

"Yeah."

Joe faced him. In his brother's eyes Adam read an unspoken plea – ' _Please don't make me look like a baby who has to ask permission'_.

"Then I'm staying."

Adam stifled a sigh. "Joe, we have to be up bright and early tomorrow. Those steers won't round themselves up."

"I won't stay long, Adam. Promise. Anyway, I don't have that much money so I should be home by midnight."

The black-haired man rose. He did his best to use his 'brother' and not his 'second father' tone. "See that you are."

The two of them followed him into the main room. Bexley went to sit at the poker table while Joe trailed him to the door.

"Thanks, Adam."

He drew a deep breath. "Don't make me regret it. Pa will skin me if you get into trouble on my watch."

"I'm just going to play a few rounds of poker," Joe grinned. "What trouble can I get in?"

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The game started at eight. It was now a quarter 'til twelve. Jude Lowery had joined them around nine and had loaned him some money so he'd been able to stay in longer than he expected.

The last of _that_ had just run out.

"That's it for me," Joe said, scooting his chair back and rising unsteadily. Between Bexley and Jude the drinks had flowed free and he had taken a little _too_ much advantage of their generosity. He'd have to be careful or he'd fall off of Cochise on the way back to the ranch.

"Do you have to go, Little Joe? We were just getting reacquainted," a light feminine voice said as five fingers wrapped themselves around his arm.

Joe sighed as he looked at the slender girl in sapphire cloth with the golden-red hair and sky blue eyes. "Phoebe, the only thing I'd like to do more than stay here with you is live to see tomorrow. If I'm not home by one o'clock at the latest, my brother Adam will kill me."

She moved in front of him and then leaned in, pressing her lower body into his. "You're sure I can't persuade you to stay?"

Joe swallowed over a lump in his throat. _He_ was used to being the one who made the advances. As Phoebe's hand slid down his thigh, he pulled away. Catching it in his, he lifted it and kissed the back of her fingers. Her skin was soft as silk. "It's not that I don't want to stay, Phoebe, but I made a promise and I need to keep it."

The beautiful woman smiled. "Joe Cartwright, you know _just_ what to say to a girl." She reached up then and pulled his head toward hers and kissed him on the lips. "You come back tomorrow night, you hear, and don't promise your brother anything. I have a room upstairs."

Before he could reply, Bexley pushed his chair back and tossed his cards on the table. "I'm done too." Looking at him, the brown-haired man said, "I need to get back to the ranch. I'll ride part way with you, Joe, if that's okay."

As Joe nodded, Jude spoke up. "You want me to come along and nursemaid you two?" he asked. "I can fold now or go a few more rounds."

"You go ahead and stay," Joe said as he extricated himself from Phoebe's embrace and aimed her toward his friend. "Phoebe can keep you company."

The blond man snorted. "She's only got eyes for you, Joe."

Bexley had moved to the door. "You coming?"

Joe nodded. "On my way."

After stopping at the hotel for Beck to settle up a bill, they went to the stable for their horses and then mounted and headed for home.

The night was crisp and cool. Joe wished he'd brought his outer coat as the suit he wore did little to keep him warm. As they passed out of the town the scents of early morning drifted to him on the air – wood fires burning, bread baking in the oven, even a touch of coffee for a man rising early enough to make his destination before dawn. The road to the ranch was deserted. In the half hour or so they had traveled, they had seen no one. At first they had talked, mostly about nothing, but in the last few minutes Bexley had fallen silent. They traveled another one hundred feet or so before his companion struck out with his hand and, catching Cochise's reins, drew Joe's horse to a halt.

Before he could ask what was up Bexley held a finger to his lips and mouthed, ' _I heard something_.'

Joe hadn't heard it, but then that didn't mean anything. ' _Where?_ ' he asked, doing the same.

Bexley pointed to the tall stacks of rock behind them. It was called Pointer's Arch due to the fact that, sometime a long time ago, the tops of the columns had bent over and touched, creating a natural arch. It was a popular place for people to stop day and night since they would be out of the weather. The area between them was equivalent to a room in a small cabin.

Bexley drew his gun and signaled. He'd approach from the left. With a nod he indicated Joe should approach from the right.

He didn't have a gun. Their evening had been social and Adam had insisted they leave their personal firearms at home, though his brother had carried a rifle with him on Sport. He'd argued, but had no luck in changing his big brother's mind. Still, he had his fists and that was enough – especially since Beckhad a gun.

Joe nodded and dismounted. After taking a second to find his feet – it was obvious Bexley had not drunk as much as he had – the man with the curly brown hair slipped into the brush to the right of the Arch. He let Beck take the lead since he was armed. As he reached the rocky towers Joe caught a glimpse of Bexley heading for the front. Taking that as a cue Joe moved toward the back. Once there he counted to ten, knowing it would take the other man at least that amount of time to get in place. Drawing a breath Joe stepped inside.

It was empty.

Frowning, he called out, "Beck? Where'd you go? Beck are you – ?"

Pain exploded in Joe's head as something struck him hard at the base of the neck, driving him face first into the dirt. Sometime later – he had no idea how long - he heard someone moaning and then realized it was _him_. As he fought to regain consciousness, Joe sensed more than felt someone straddle him. Whoever it was took hold of the back of his collar and lifted his head up from the ground. They bent in close. He could feel their breath on his cheek. It reeked of alcohol.

Joe opened his eyes again to find the world was still out of focus. Fighting to stay awake he asked, his voice robbed of all strength by the attack, "Who...?"

The voice that answered was low, gruff, disguised. "Who do you think?"

Joe blinked back tears. His head was pounding so hard he could barely think. "What...what do you want?"

The man shifted his hands so they were wrapped around his throat.

"What do I want?

"I want _you_ , pretty boy."

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TWO

Adam was roused from sleep by someone knocking on the door. He felt like his father waiting for Joe to come home, only he was on the settee instead of in the chair. He should have known better than to leave Joe at a poker game. His little brother not only had a penchant for overindulging in gambling but in just about everything else. There would have been drinks and pretty girls and -

Well, it was a recipe for disaster.

The black-haired man ran a hand over the stubble on his cheeks and glanced out the window as the knocking was repeated, more urgently this time. From the angle of the sun he thought it must be about five o'clock.

Good Lord! Joe was late by _five_ hours.

"All right, all right," Adam said as the knocking came yet again. Lifting the latch, he opened the door to find Jude Lowery standing outside. Jude was paler than usual, which was saying quite a bit as Lowery was one of those freckle-faced blond men with pale skin who burned and didn't tan.

"How can I help you, Jude?" he asked with a frown.

The other man was nervous. As his fingers worked the edge of his hat, Jude said, "Adam, you need to come to town."

The way he said it made every hair on his body stand on end. It didn't take much to make the leap. "Joe?" he asked.

Jude nodded. "I was on my way home after the poker game ended and ran into Bexley on the road. There was trouble. Joe's hurt. Beck is too."

Adam's jaw was tight. "What happened?"

"They were robbed. I checked the saddlebags and everything was gone. Whoever did it knocked Beck out and beat Joe pretty badly. You know Joe," the blond said, a wan smile lifting the corner of his upper lip, "he probably put up a fight." Jude hesitated. "There's something else, Adam."

He steeled himself. "What?"

"Joe's...clothes are missing."

What he said didn't register at first. When it did, he asked, "What do you mean 'missing'?"

"Someone stripped him and took off with them."

"Why would someone do that?"

Jude shrugged. "That was a mighty fine suit."

"Who's with Joe now?" Adam asked as he reached for his hat on the hook by the door. He was still dressed in his own suit from the night before. As it had turned cooler, he headed for his tan coat next.

"Beck and Doc Martin. At least the Doc was there when I left."

"Where is _there?"_ Adam demanded as he slipped into his coat.

"Beck couldn't find the doctor, so he took Joe to the Bucket of Blood. There's a girl at the saloon who's sweet on him and he knew she'd take care of him." At his look, Jude added, "It was too far to bring Joe home in the condition he was in."

It wasn't the most savory of places, but at least Joe was safe. He wondered if he knew the girl. "What's her name, this girl?"

"Phoebe Howath."

Adam thought a moment. "The pretty redhead who likes to wear blue?"

Jude nodded. "Second floor, second room to the right. Just knock and she'll let you in."

He was buckling on his gun. "You aren't coming?"

Jude shook his head. "I'll check in soon as I can. I need to get back to the ranch or I'm liable to get fired."

"All right. But Bexley will be there?"

"Should be. The Doc needed to look at him too. I told him I'd stop by where he works and let them know he'd be late getting back."

"Thanks for that, Jude," he said as he opened the door. "Now, come on, I need to get to town."

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As Adam flew down the road toward Virginia City, his thoughts raced and pounded as hard and fast as his horse's hooves. Robberies were not unknown on the road Joe was taking, but they were few and far between. Most happened because a stage or coach was coming to town and it was known the passengers carried something valuable. It was rare for a single man on a single horse to be attacked. Of course, Joe _would_ have looked like the son of some rich man riding Cochise and wearing that damn brown suit. Someone could have thought he had money on him and was wearing silver or gold. From what Jude said, it sounded like Joe put up one hell of a fight.

Adam wondered what his injuries were, and how severe.

It took Adam less than an hour to reach town, riding as he was at a full gallop. Sport was breathing hard and sweating by the time they reached Virginia City. Much as he wanted to fly to his brother's side, the black-haired man took time to stable his horse and have it looked after. A few minutes later as he approached the Bucket of Blood, Adam saw a curtain in an upstairs window fall back into place. Moments later an attractive woman with spiraling golden-red hair opened the door and stepped out.

"Hello, Phoebe," he said as he drew alongside her.

"Adam," she nodded tightly.

"How's Joe?"

The redhead's eyes were misty. She shook her head.

Adam gripped her arm with more force than intended. He relented when he saw her wince. "Is my brother's life in danger?"

"The doctor said 'no', but it's bad, Adam." Phoebe shuddered. "Little Joe looks like... Well, he's been beaten near to death and... It looks like whoever did it tried to strangle him."

" _Strangle_ him? Good God!" What sort of maniac, he thought, had his brother run into? "Take me to Joe."

Phoebe hesitated. "He's...in my room upstairs, Adam."

"It's all right, Phoebe. I appreciate what you are doing for Joe. Pa will too."

As she turned and headed for the stair the saloon girl said, "That's right. I remember now, Joe said earlier tonight that his pa was away. Will you send him word?"

Adam sighed. "As soon as I have some idea of _what_ word to send him."

Once upstairs Phoebe led him down the corridor of the saloon's poorly lit second floor. They stopped in front of the second door on the right and she knocked three times and then, once again. He heard a key turn in the lock. A second later the door opened.

"Adam, thank God you're here!" Bexley Lanahan said. As the brown-haired man shifted out of the way, he stumbled. Adam caught his arm and it was then he saw the growing bruise on the side of his face. "Jude said you were attacked too."

"Someone pistol whipped me," the other man said. "Compared to Joe's injuries, it's nothing. I think..."

"Yes?"

"It seemed like someone wanted me out of the way."

Adam frowned. As Bexley moved aside he headed for the bed where Joe lay. Like the hall, the room was inadequately lit – women like Phoebe seldom operated in bright light – and it was hard to see his brother. Joe was also buried beneath a mountain of blankets with only the top of his head showing. He glanced at the redhead as he began to peel them back one by one.

"Little Joe's been shaking uncontrollably. I thought it best to keep him warm."

Adam nodded and then turned back to his brother, who was curled up on his side. He peeled another blanket away and finally got to Joe. Reaching out he touched his brother's bare shoulder.

"He's warm now," he said as he shoved some of the extra blankets her way.

Phoebe took them with a little smile. "Thank goodness."

Adam watched the saloon girl as she turned and placed the blankets on top of a nearby chest. She really _did_ seem to care. Turning to Bexley who was lingering just inside the door, he said, "I'd like to sit with Joe for a bit. Can you hang around long enough to tell me what happened?"

The brown-haired man nodded. "I'll go down with Phoebe. I could use a stiff drink anyhow. Besides, the Doc will be back soon and I'd like to know for sure that Joe's going to be okay before I head back to the ranch."

Adam waited until the two had departed and then closed the door behind them. After that he went over to the lamp and extended the wick, bringing as much light to the room as possible. Drawing a deep breath, the black-haired man steeled himself and then sat on the edge of the bed and began to examine his brother's wounds.

Joe was out, completely. He made no response and didn't move on his own when he touched him. It didn't concern him too much as he knew that was common for a man who had taken a blow to the head strong enough to render him unconscious. Taking hold of Joe, he gently turned his head and felt for the knot such a blow to the head would have raised. It was there, just within his brother's hairline on the back, so he had probably been taken by surprise. Joe's other injuries were harder to see as most of them appeared to be bruises, including a place on the left side of his jaw where it looked like he had been struck so hard his attacker's hand had left a print. Strangest of all were the marks on his neck. He could see the distinct impressions of thumbs near Little Joe's Adam's apple, and there were other bruises. They appeared to have been left by eight fingers wrapping around his neck. It definitely looked like someone had tried to strangle him.

If there were any internal injuries, it would take the Doc to know.

Adam stared at his brother a moment and then took one of his hands in his own. Reaching out, he brushed the sweat-soaked brown curls back from Joe's forehead and called him, "Joe. Joe, it's Adam. Can you hear me?"

There was no response.

He squeezed his brother's hand a little harder. "Joe?"

This time Joe moaned. It was a pitiful sound.

He felt guilty for waking him, but he needed to know what Joe knew. Taking hold of his brother's arm, he commanded, "Listen to my voice, Joe. Reach for it."

Joe moaned again. His breathing grew rapid. His brother tensed and then, unexpectedly, began to struggle to break free. "No!" Joe shouted as he thrashed from side to side. "No! Pa!"

Adam hesitated to hold him any tighter, but he had to calm Joe down before he hurt himself. Gripping him with both hands he shouted, "Joe, it's Adam! You're safe now! _Joe!"_

For a moment it seemed his brother had not heard. Then Little Joe's eyes flew open. They searched the dark room wildly, seeking the man who went with the voice.

"Adam?"

He continued to hold him. "I'm here, Joe. I'm here."

Joe blinked and some of the tension fled his body. He winced as he shifted to look at him, as if everything hurt. "Adam?" he asked again.

This time it was a sigh.

Adam had to collect himself before he answered. "I'm here, Joe. Can you tell me what happened?"

Joe's breathing was fast, his heart racing. He shook his head and then turned his face into the pillows.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. It opened and Bexley Lanahan stuck his head in. "The Doc's back, Adam. I thought you would want to know." Bexley looked at Joe and seeing he was conscious, stepped into the room. "Hey, Joe, it's good to see you awake."

Adam turned back to his brother. He placed a hand on his shoulder, noting how he jumped when he did. "Joe? Is there _anything_ you can tell me?"

His answer was a shake of the head.

It was probably too early. He just hated to lose the trail if there was one. It looked like it would be morning – if then – before Joe would be able to talk.

"All right, Joe. You sleep now," he said. Rising, Adam headed for the door. "Bexley, are you coming down with me?"

The other man shook his head. "I'll wait. The Doc said Joe shouldn't be left alone. You send Phoebe up and then I'll come down."

Adam's eyes went from the brown-haired man to Joe. "All right. It will be soon."

Bexley nodded and then went to sit in the chair by the bed. Adam stared at him for a moment. Bexley, like Jude, hadn't known Joe all that long, but the care he was showing seemed to prove him a better man than their father thought.

When he reached the bottom of the steps Doc Martin stood up to greet him.

"Good to see you, Adam. I only wish the circumstances were better."

Adam took the hand the older man offered and shook it. "It seems, sometimes, that we only see each other _because_ of Joe," he said, his smile sad and wry.

"Now, now, you and Hoss have had your share of house calls. I seem to remember a few arrows in the leg, and time spent patching you up when you snuck out and rode that bronco before you were old enough to do so."

He had to admit it was true.

"I understand Ben and Hoss are out of town?"

"And out of communication for a few days. I'll send a rider after them to let them know what's happened." He ran a hand across his face. "That is, when _I_ know what's happened."

"You look like a man who needs a prescription for a whiskey." The Doc turned to Phoebe and held up a hand.

She nodded. "I'll get two."

"Thank you, Phoebe," Adam said, "and – if you don't mind – could you go sit with Joe so Bexley can join us? I'd like to hear his story firsthand."

"Of course."

As the redhead headed for the bar, Adam turned back to the Doc. The older man had taken a seat at a table and gestured for him to join him. Doc Martin remained silent for several heartbeats and then asked, "Did you examine your brother's injuries?"

Adam nodded his thanks to Phoebe as he accepted the drink. "As best I could in what proved to be minimal light."

"What did you think of them? The injuries, I mean?"

He took a sip and relished the warmth as it ran from his throat down his gullet and into his stomach. "I could see Joe was beaten," he replied, biting back the anger the image of it raised. "And it looks like someone tried to strangle him."

"Did you look closely at his wrists?"

"No. Should I have?"

"You're brother was bound, Adam, hand and foot."

"Bound?" His fingers closed on the whiskey glass, his knuckles going white. "Was Joe still bound when Bexley found him?"

"You'll have to ask him to be sure, but I don't think so. Someone restrained him while they attacked him and then removed the proof that he had _been_ restrained. His flesh, however, bears the marks – there are rope burns on his wrists and ankles." The older man paused. "I believe he was gagged as well."

Tied up? Beaten? Gagged? The mystery of what had happened to Joe was growing deeper by the minute.

"Why?"

The doctor shifted back in his chair. He shook his head. "I don't know. Obviously someone wanted him incapacitated for some reason. The chief reason, of course, would be so they could do what they wanted."

There was something in the doc's tone. "Are you telling me everything?"

Doc Martin nodded. "Yes. Everything I know."

"But not what you suspect."

The older man sighed. "Adam, once I examine Joe more closely, if I feel my suspicions have any validity, I will certainly tell you. But not before then. It just wouldn't be right."

At that moment a step creaked. Adam turned to find Bexley Lanahan had passed the landing and was descending the last few steps to the saloon floor. A moment later the brown-haired man sat down at the table and folded his hands on its surface.

"I suppose you want to hear what I told the Doc."

"Very much," Adam replied.

"There isn't much to tell." Bexley leaned back. In the brighter light of the main floor Adam could see the man had taken quite a blow to the side of the head and there were other bruises, indicating he had been mistreated as well. Though they were nothing like Joe's. "Joe and I left the saloon together," he began. "As we came to Pointer's Arch, I heard something. I thought maybe someone was laying in wait, so I stopped Joe. We dismounted and took opposite paths to see if we could find anyone. I saw Joe through the Arch and was just about to call out to him when someone hit me hard. I went down and out. I don't know for how long. It might have been an hour."

"Where did you find Joe?"

"Between the road and the rocks." Bexley's jaw tensed and he shifted as if uncomfortable. "It was strange. Joe was laying there on the ground. He'd been stripped down to his union suit and it was torn. I guess whoever attacked us wanted that fine suit of his. Joe was out like a light so I checked him over. That's when I found the knot, here," he indicated the back of his neck just above the hairline, "and knew he'd been cold-cocked too. I waited until he had roused a bit and then put him in the saddle in front of me and brought him here." Bexley sighed as he leaned back in the chair. "Since Phoebe's sweet on Joe, I figured she'd take good care of him. 'Sides, I couldn't think of anywhere else to take him. The Ponderosa was too far to go in the condition he was in."

"I'm grateful, Bexley, that you brought him here." Adam thought a moment. "Any sign of whoever perpetrated the crime?"

The brown-haired man shook his head. "I checked the saddlebags and they were empty, so it was probably a robbery. Joe looked mighty fine last night. Someone probably thought he had money on him."

It made the most sense. Still, the marks on Joe's throat and the fact that he had been bound for some crime committed while he was unconscious bothered him.

When Bexley remained silent, he said, "Anything more?"

"I'm just as in the dark as you, Adam. Maybe we'll know more tomorrow?"

Doc Martin nodded. "We certainly will,' he said.

"Doc, is Joe in any danger, of dying, I mean?" Bexley asked.

The older man shook his head. "Not unless there are internal injuries I was not able to diagnose in the quick examination I gave him. I'll do a better one before I leave tonight. Then, I need to run my rounds."

The brown-haired man rose stiffly. "Well, I had best get back to the ranch while I still have a job. I'll be in town tomorrow night for Jude's game. Can I check with you then?"

"Certainly."

Bexley took his whiskey in hand and downed the remainder of it before heading for the door. Once there, he turned and said, "I'm sorry, Adam, that I couldn't prevent what happened to Joe."

Adam nodded. "So am I, but it's not your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Yeah." Bexley swung the saloon doors open and started through. "Anyhow, see you tomorrow."

Doc Martin rose as well. "I should go now to check in on your brother. Are you coming, Adam?"

He was staring at his glass, turning it round and round in his fingers. "I will in a minute. I... I need some time to think."

Doc Martin's hand came down on his shoulder. "Amazing, isn't it? How quickly things turn? How a man can go from healthy and whole to the edge of dying in a heartbeat." The older man's face lit with a sad smile. "I guess it's the Almighty's way of keeping us humble and dependent on Him." He lifted his hand. "If Joe is awake, I'll tell him you'll be up shortly."

Adam listened to the other man's feet as they retreated up the stairs. Then he rose and walked to the door of the saloon and looked out. The sun was peeking over the horizon and the new day was about to begin. He wished he knew what it would hold. If he didn't return to the Ponderosa and issue orders soon most of the work there would grind to a halt. Still, he didn't want to leave Joe until he knew he was out of danger. He'd have to find one of the ranch hands in town and send them out with orders for the day. Then, he needed to send word to his father and brother. What did he say? Adam thought about it a moment and then decided a portion of what he knew was best. Joe had been attacked and robbed on the road home and was in bad shape. The Doc had seen him and he was holding his own. There really was little else he could say, and even less he knew, but as the day dawned the black-haired man vowed he would know more – somehow, he _would_ know more. He'd ride out to Pointer's Arch and see the crime scene for himself, and then question everyone who had been in the saloon that night, especially Jude, Phoebe, and, once again, Bexley Lanahan.

Someone had to know something about what had happened.

He just had to figure out who.

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It was dark. Dark and _cold_.

He was on the move, every sense heightened, searching for something or someone.

The night was bitter. He could feel the wind cutting through the thin fabric of his dress clothes, chilling him to the bone. There was something in front of him – a formation of rocks – something with a heart of blackness beneath it. He didn't want to go in there, but he had to.

For some reason he _had_ to.

His heart raced as he entered the darkness. Once inside he paused, uncertain.

Wasn't someone supposed to be there?

Then, without warning, pain exploded in his head. His body jolted as it hit the ground and someone straddled him like a horse. They slapped him hard and pushed his face into the dirt and then began to pull his suit coat off. He fought his attacker – fought _hard_ , but since he was on his back he was at a disadvantage. He tried to arch his back to throw them off and was struck again. The blow set his head to spinning even as strong, relentless fingers closed around his throat, pressing in, choking off his air. Still he fought, still, tried to break free...

Tried and failed.

Tears flooded Joe's eyes and ran down his cheeks. It was his fault, whatever was happening was _his_ fault. He should never have stayed in Virginia City. He should have left earlier or later, been smarter, faster, better. Should have been able to stop –

Someone took his hand. The contact was terrifying and he began to struggle. "No! Let me go!"

"Little Joe. _Joe!_ It's Phoebe."

He froze. It was a woman's voice. Whoever it was, was a _woman._ His attacker had been a man, he was sure of that.

A hand touched his cheek sending a chill through him. "Little Joe, are you awake? Can you look at me?"

Yes, he was awake. But, no, he couldn't.

Joe felt his fingers squeezed and then the bed he lay on rose beneath him, as if the woman who had been sitting there stood up. A moment later it dipped again as someone took her place.

"Joseph?" an older man's voice asked.

Relief flooded through him. It was Pa! His pa had come to rescue him! Joe struggled to open his eyes. It took a mighty effort, but he managed it. An older man _was_ sitting beside him. He lifted a hand, reaching for him, desperate for that beloved touch.

"Pa?"

The man's hand caught his. His palm was soft and not calloused, so it _couldn'_ t be his pa. "No, son. It's Doc Martin," he said, dashing his hopes. "How are you, Joseph?"

Tears flooded Joe's eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks. He shook his head, finding no words.

"You've been treated badly, boy," the doctor said, his voice rough with emotion. "Are you in pain?"

He was. He hurt _everywhere_ , even in places that didn't make sense. For a second Joe considered answering the older man, but then he decided that sinking back into the blackness was easier.

The Doc shook him. "Joe? I need you to answer me. I won't leave you alone until you do."

Opening his eyes was like peeling away old horse glue. Joe ran his tongue across his lips. "Right as rain, Doc," he said with a weak smile.

"Since when do Ben Cartwright's boys lie?" The older man asked, affection in his tone. "Look, Joe, I _know_ you're hurting." He paused. "And maybe in ways that puzzle you. Can you tell me?"

It made it hurt worse when he thought about it. "No," he replied.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

That hurt too much too. Again, he answered, "No."

The doctor sighed as he let go of his hand. "All right, Joe. It's probably too soon. What you need now is rest. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep."

Joe watched as Doc Martin leaned over to retrieve his bag. After placing it on the bed, he opened it and pulled out a small bottle. The older man uncorked the bottle, poured some of its contents into a glass of water and then placed it on the bedside table.

"I'm going to touch you, Joe, and lift you up. Is that all right?"

For some reason he was grateful he'd asked. "Yeah...sure, Doc."

After slipping his arm behind him, the older man picked up the glass and held it to his lips. "This will help you sleep, lad. Drink it down."

When he was finished the Doc returned him to the pillows and then placed the empty glass on the bedside table by the bottle.

"It won't be long now," he said. "Rest well, Joseph. We'll talk tomorrow."

Adam was still standing at the door of the saloon when Doc Martin came down the stairs. The older man crossed over to where he was and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You look tired, Adam. Have you had any sleep?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"You should get some soon. Doctor's orders. I don't need _two_ of Ben's boys in my care."

"Yes, sir," he said with a pale smile. Adam sobered as he asked, "How is Joe?"

The doctor considered the question before he answered. "As well as can be expected. I gave him a dose of laudanum and he's sleeping now. I left Phoebe with him. She's competent, but I think it would do Joe good if you went to sit with him."

"Any particular reason why?" he asked.

The older man hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "After what's happened, what your brother needs most is family. An attack of this nature can make a man feel many things – fear, shame, guilt that he wasn't able to prevent it."

"You mean the beating?"

"Among other things." Doc Martin met his puzzled gaze. "Adam, every man, no matter how strong, has a point where he breaks. You need to be prepared. This may be Joe's."

Adam frowned. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

The older man hesitated. "I'm not sure. I'll let you know tomorrow."

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Ten minutes later Adam stood by his brother's side. Upon his arrival in Joe's room he sent Phoebe off to bed. The redhead had been true and had kept watch over Joe throughout the night and she was exhausted. The dose of laudanum Doc Martin gave his brother had put Joe out, but even in that deep drug-induced sleep he was restless. Joe tossed and turned and muttered and at times, moaned as if caught in some terror he could not escape.

The morning light was creeping in through the window and, since it hadn't disturbed or awakened Joe, Adam opened the curtains wide. He returned to the bed then and sat by his brother and set about examining his injuries more closely. He found it curious that he had to gently take hold of Joe and roll him over to see most of them. The imprint of fingers on his little brother's neck and throat showed that the attack had come from behind. Whoever tied him up must have accosted him while he was face down on the ground. There were bruises on his shoulders as well and more running down his back and onto his thighs and buttocks.

Adam sat back, puzzling over that one.

As he sat there, looking at his baby brother laying in a stranger's bed, battered, bruised, and helpless as a child, something awoke deep within him. It was more than rage, more than a need for justice or even revenge. He'd felt all of that before when Joe had been taken advantage of by the likes of John C. Reagan or Sam Wolf. This was something different and it frightened him because it roused something primal in him.

It made him want to kill whoever had done it.

The black-haired man drew a deliberate deep, steadying breath and held it for ten heartbeats before releasing it. He couldn't be certain what had happened, not until he could talk to Joe, but no matter what it was utterly inexcusable.

Whoever attacked Joe in such a brutal way deserved to be put down like the rabid animal he was.

Utterly weary, Adam leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. "God, _please._ Please let me find whoever did this."

It must have been his voice that woke him. Joe shifted and groaned. Fighting back tears, Adam twisted around and placed a hand on his brother's arm.

Joe nearly came off the bed.

His baby brother was slight but strong. Restraining him was tantamount to holding down an enraged mountain lion. All he could think of as he fought to keep Joe on the bed was that, in his drugged state, Joe had returned to the moment of the attack and believed he had to fight to break free. Unfortunately, even though his brother was shouting, his words were garbled and made no sense.

Whatever secret was locked within him was going to remain so for the foreseeable future.

"Joe! " Adam said firmly, "Joe, hear me! It's Adam. You're with me and you're _safe!_ "

Joe didn't buy it. He continued to struggle as if his life depended on it and then, suddenly, stopped and became deathly silent. For several heartbeats his baby brother lay there, panting, and then with a whimper Joe curled up into a ball and began to cry.

It nearly broke his heart.

Adam straightened up. He hesitated a moment and then lifted Joe up and slipped in behind him. This time, there was no reaction. Apparently, the laudanum was in command again. Adam shifted until he was in a comfortable place and then cradled his brother against his body like he was a child – like he had done when Joe _was_ a child.

He held him until the sun was up and the room filled with light.


	2. Part Two

THREE

Hoss Cartwright finished filling his canteen and stood up. For a moment he remained where he was, listening to the river and living world around him, enjoying its beauty. The Ponderosa pines surrounding him stretched clean up to the sky and when you stood in the middle of a bunch of them like he was now, it was just like being in one of those there cathedrals in England or Ireland, or at least so he'd been told. He'd never seen a cathedral, of course, and probably never would, but he'd seen church steeples and he knew what people meant when they said it. The farther up the trees went the more their trunks seemed to lean in toward one another, forming a sort of tower. He'd loved to sit beneath them when he was a little boy, staring up the inside of that green spire for hours. The direct line to the sky took him away from all the little things men thought were important and from the awful things they was capable of. As he capped the canteen the big man turned back toward his pa. They hadn't gone twenty miles before they'd been set on by a pair of outlaws and while they'd managed to get away, it wasn't 'clean' away. Their horses was gone and his pa had a bandage on his head from a stray bullet that has passed by and taken a slice of skin with it. It had done no other damage than to leave Pa with the kind of headache Little Joe had after staying in town too long.

Lifting the other canteen that he had already filled from the ground, Hoss crossed over to the older man. He held it out and when his father took it, asked, "How you feelin', Pa?"

"Like a fool," the older man groused.

"Now, Pa, weren't no way you coulda knowed those men was hiding in the trees."

"I let my guard down, son, and that's a thing a man is lucky if he gets to do twice."

"How's your head?"

"Pounding." A second later his pa looked up at him. "Don't worry, son. I'll be fine once we get back to the Ponderosa."

The big man sighed. "I sure wish those men hadn't taken the horses."

"We'll get them back. Once we get home, I'll send one of the hands into town to find Roy. He'll track them down."

Hoss took a seat beside his pa and reached out for the pot of coffee that was steeping over a small fire. As he poured himself a cup, he said, "Joe and Adam sure will be surprised to see us back so soon."

"I imagine they will be." The older man shook his head when he offered to pour him a cup. "I'll take some later. I don't need it now."

"I don't need it either, Pa," Hoss said, drawing the scent into his nostrils. "I justplumb _want_ it."

His father laughed and then fell silent.

Five minutes later he was silent still.

"What you thinkin' about, Pa?"

"What? Oh..." The silver-haired man drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Your brother."

Hoss nodded thoughtfully. "That Adam, he _sure_ is trouble..."

The older man looked at him, puzzled, and then snorted when he got the joke. "It's not Adam that is changing _this_ from silver to white," he said, indicating his hair.

"Well, you cain't mean Joe," he countered. "Little brother's an angel."

"Your little brother may l _ook_ like an angel, but there's more of the Old Nick in him than what you'll find combined in both you and Adam."

"Oh, shucks, Pa. Joe's just young."

"And impulsive and hot-headed and disobedient and, at times, indolent and shiftless." He shook his head. "I don't know where he gets it."

Hoss hesitated, but then spoke his piece. "I seem to remember you talking about a certain young seaman who had a 'reckless misspent' youth."

The older man's eyes met his. For a moment the look out of them was hard, but then it softened. "I suppose you're right." His pa sighed. "But it's every parent's desire that their children learn _by_ their mistakes rather than by _repeating_ them."

"Joe ain't that bad. Leastwise, not as I know him. Oh, he may try to wiggle out of something to go meet some gal or stay too late at a poker game now and then, but he ain't afraid of work and when he works, he works hard. You know that."

"That's another thing – the girls and the gambling _and_ the brawls!"

"Joe just loves life, Pa. Ain't nothin' wrong with that far as I know."

His father capped the canteen he held and handed it to him. "No. No, there's nothing wrong with that." He paused. "I have to admit, there _is_ nothing quite like hearing your brother laugh."

"Or _makin_ ' him laugh," Hoss agreed. "That's the thing with Joe. He may get madder than a wet hen and be ornery and stubborn as a mule, but he's also the quickest to say he's sorry."

"He's pretty good at forgiving too."

"I guess, Pa, it's like one of them there seesaws the kids play on. Joe's hard to handle when he's high or low, but the times when he's in the middle..."

His father gestured. "I changed my mind, son. I'll take that coffee now." As Hoss poured it, the older man continued. "I see your mothers in you all. Elizabeth in Adam's intelligence and steady soul. Kindness and gentleness in you, just like Inger. Marie, well, there is so much of Marie in Joe." He took a sip and then shook his head. "Talk about a spitfire."

"Why'd you fall in love with her, Pa? Do you know? I mean, I loved Marie, but she weren't like my ma or Adam's, was she?"

"No. Not really. Marie was, well, like Joe, impulsive and quick to anger. And like your brother, she wore her emotions on her sleeve. You could see the storm brewing long before it arrived. Marie felt things deeply, _too_ deeply perhaps and was easily wounded."

"That sounds like Joe too."

His father nodded and then added with a smile. "Yes, Joe is _definitely_ his mother's son. I guess I need to remember that when he makes me as angry as she did."

"It's a good thing little brother's so gosh-darned cute. It's kind of like a puppy. Don't matter what it does, you couldn't live without it."

"Don't let Joe hear you call him 'cute'."

Hoss grinned. "Sure I will, Pa. I'm always up for a good scrap."

The older man leaned forward and emptied his cup on the fire. Then he looked up. "The day's dawning. We better get walking. Even at a good clip we won't make the Ponderosa before sundown tomorrow."

"Lessen God wants to prove He loves us so _powerful_ much that He sends us a wagon," the big man suggested.

His father rose. He placed a hand on his shoulder in passing. "Always the optimist, eh, son?"

"Not always, Pa, but I sure am when it comes to lookin' for some divine help or walkin' twenty mile or more."

"If we stick to the road, we might just not need God's help this time, son. Someone is bound to come along. I'd like to get home as quickly as possible. I need to send a telegram to Henry Steel for one thing. He'll be expecting us and wonder where we are. I'd still like to get those horses, but there's no way we can make it to Winnemucca walking. It's just too far."

"I wonder what Adam and Joe is doing right now."

The older man looked south and scowled. "Running the ranch, I hope."

Hoss snorted. "Yes, I guess that's kind of important. Ain't it?"

"Kind of."

Hoss stood and slung both canteens over his shoulder. He took a step toward the road and then held out a hand.

"After you, Pa. Age before beauty."

They began the long walk home to the sound of his father's laughter.

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Phoebe Bird Howath halted just without her room. She hesitated to knock, but it was kind of important. She had moved to one of the empty rooms on the floor when Adam Cartwright relieved her, but had forgotten to take any of her things with her. Today was the day she went to help her mother with chores and she couldn't do it in a scanty dress made of a body-hugging shiny blue fabric. Her mother knew what she did and didn't approve. It hung unspoken between them whenever they were together, like the proverbial elephant in the room. Her mother thought what she did was wicked and maybe it was, but it brought a smile to the face of tired and lonely men and she wasn't so sure that was such a bad thing. She'd met many who were gentlemen and wanted nothing more from her than her company. Little Joe Cartwright was like that. He was sweet and polite and had never taken advantage of her.

Even though she wished that he would.

Phoebe placed her hand on the doorknob and then stopped. She had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror at the end of the hall. She was still wearing her blue dress from the night before and it was looking a little limp. So did she. Crossing to the mirror, she examined herself. What she saw was a woman who was pretty enough but not a beauty, with light red hair and pale pink skin. She had a slender figure, but the price paid for that was a long torso and longer legs and practically no bust. Taking both hands she lifted her breasts, careful to work the padding she had placed in her corset so they looked full and natural.

Without the padding she looked like a boy.

Phoebe turned back and looked at the door to her room. The sun was up and all too soon Adam Cartwright would take his brother home to recover. She didn't want to see Little Joe go. Last night as she lay in bed, trying to sleep, an idea had formed in her mind. It was crazy, but she was going to ask Joe's brother anyhow. She was going to offer to go with them to the Ponderosa so she could take care of Little Joe. She had no idea if Little Joe's older brother would accept, or even listen to her. After all, there was no reason he should. From what she understood Ben Cartwright and Little Joe's other brother were away. Adam would have work to do running the ranch and would need someone to stay in the house in case Little Joe had a need, and she wanted to be the one. Phoebe smiled ruefully. More than once Little Joe Cartwright had taken on someone who had insulted her and ended up with a black eye for his troubles. That alone would have made her love him, but it wasn't only that. He was _all_ man. She'd taken a turn or two on the floor with him and there had been strength in the hands that encircled her waist. On top of that, he was handsome. She'd never seen a man _so_ handsome and with such a winning smile. She loved his laugh and everything else about him.

Unfortunately, Little Joe didn't love her.

But maybe he could. Maybe nursing him back to health would make him fall...

Phoebe shook herself. No. That was wrong. That was taking advantage of an injured man. Maybe she shouldn't even ask Adam if she could go. She'd probably just mess up like she did the last time and end up just as desperate.

Phoebe let her confusion out in a sigh as she opened the door. Adam Cartwright was sitting on the bed with his head against the headboard. He was holding Little Joe in his arms. Both of them were asleep. Crossing over to the bed, she stared at the oldest of Ben Cartwright's sons. She didn't know Adam well. She'd passed him in the street now and then, but most of the time she saw him in the Bucket when he showed up to drag his brother home. Adam was handsome as well, but then that wasn't a surprise. Their father was handsome too and, though she had never seen a likeness of their mothers, she couldn't imagine the almost regal Ben Cartwright marrying anything other than a beauty. Adam's hair was dark and straight, where Joe's was a mass of brown curls. The eldest Cartwright son was taller and had a stockier build. Adam was like an oak, sturdy and unbending. Little Joe was more like a sapling, slender and flexible. Hoss, the middle son of Ben Cartwright, was a question mark as far as looks, but not as far as what he was made of. Hoss Cartwright was big as a mountain and, while he was not handsome, was the sweetest man she had ever met.

Well, other than Little Joe.

She hated to wake Adam, but she needed her things. Beside, the doctor would be returning soon and he would have to move then. A few minutes more sleep wouldn't make much of a difference.

"Adam," she said quietly. "Adam, wake up."

One hazel eye opened languidly and then shut again. A second later Adam let out a sigh. "I was hoping this was all a bad dream," he said as he looked down at his brother. "No such luck, I see."

"Our cook's in and there's food downstairs. Why don't you go get some? You _have_ to be hungry."

Adam nodded. "That I am, though I couldn't say I really have much of an appetite." The man in black shifted and slipped out from under his brother who moaned quietly as he laid him back on the nest of pillows. "Joe had a rough time sleeping."

From the look of him, so had Adam. "Did he say anything?"

The black-haired man shook his head. "No. At least nothing that made sense." Adam ran a hand over his face. Then he turned and looked at her wash stand. "May I?"

"The water's old."

Adam smiled as he headed that way. "Old or cold, it's still water."

That made her laugh. "Please, go ahead." As Little Joe's brother tossed water on his face, Phoebe took a seat in the chair beside the bed. She hesitated only a moment and then reached out and took hold of Little Joe's hand. As she did she noted the rope burns on his wrists. Touching one of the red marks, she asked quietly, "Who would do such a thing?"

Adam glanced at her. "A lot of men, unfortunately."

She turned toward him. He was drying his face now. "For a suit of clothes and maybe a few dollars?"

He shrugged. "It's hard to say. Maybe it was someone who was desperate. Prisoners have been known to kill men for their clothes so they can wear them and pretend to be someone else. A few dollars would be more than enough for the likes of that kind of man."

"Is that what you think happened?"

Phoebe watched him consider it. "No," he said at last. "This seems...more _personal_ somehow." Adam paused. "Phoebe, I hate to ask it, but can you stay with Joe while I go find someone to carry a message to Pa and another one to the Ponderosa? Pa needs to know what's happened and I need to at least make an attempt to keep the ranch going."

"I'm happy to. I'll be free all day. Today is the day when I usually go to help my mother. She's expecting me, but knows sometimes I don't show due to changes in my schedule." Phoebe hesitated. "Adam..."

Adam had moved to the door. He turned back with his hand on the knob. "Yes?"

"If you need someone to look after Joe once you get him home, I'd... I'd be glad to go to the Ponderosa with you. If it would help."

"That's very kind of you, Phoebe," Joe's brother replied. "But I don't know that it's necessary. Hop Sing is there – "

"Another man?" The redhead released her grip on Little Joe's arm. She stood and walked to Adam's side. "Really, I _want_ to. Little Joe's been so kind to me. I wouldn't be any bother. I'll just sit with him and keep out of your way."

The man in black seemed to consider it. "After I send the message, I _should_ ride out and meet with our foreman and take a look at what's going on. Hop Sing is a wonderful man, but he has his duties to attend to as well." His eyes went to his brother. "At this point I _would_ hate to leave Joe alone for very long."

"He wouldn't be. He'd be with me." When he said nothing, she tried again. "Won't you take me with you?"

Adam came over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'll consider it, and let you know before I leave. How's that?"

It was more than she could have hoped for, and probably more than she deserved. "Thank you, Adam."

The black-haired man returned to the open doorway. "I'll be back after I send Pa word. Hopefully Doc Martin will have returned by then. I think he needs to take a closer look at Joe. He has injuries I don't..." Adam frowned. "I need to get him home. Joe's been through enough and he should be in his own bed. I hope the Doc will say it's all right."

"He said his rounds would take about four hours and he was heading out at first light. It shouldn't be long."

"Good. Thank you again, Phoebe."

After Adam disappeared through the door, the redhead rose and followed. She stood in the hall, half-in and half-out of her room, listening as he greeted the barkeep below, wondering what it would be like to belong to a family like the Cartwrights – not for the money, but for the _caring_. She'd never had one day when she looked forward to her father's return, or one moment when she thought he cared. Elijah Howath had been hard-nosed hard-drinking man who had driven his wife and children away before he killed himself by falling off the side of a bridge and drowning as he headed home one night drunk as a skunk.

What would it be like to be the child of Ben Cartwright?

With a sigh Phoebe stepped back into the room and closed the door and then went to the window and dreamed.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam stepped out of the mercantile still thinking about the note he had sent to his pa by way of Billy Whitman, a neighbor's boy. He hadn't wanted it to be too vague. He didn't want to frighten Pa by leaving out details but then again, he hesitated to make it too specific as well. In the end he had simply said that Joe had been robbed and he was hurt and they needed to hurry home. It wasn't quite the whole truth, but then again he didn't know what the _whole_ truth was.

So deep was he in thought as he made his way down the boardwalk that he almost collided with an older woman who was hurrying past. As it was she dropped half her packages. He offered to help carry them to her wagon as an apology and she accepted. As they rounded the corner he noticed two men deep in conversation out front of the livery.

One was Jude Lowery and the other, Bexley Lanahan.

For a moment he was surprised to find them in town, but then he remembered that it was Saturday and Jude had a poker game planned for that night. They were probably free for the day and had decided to spend it in town. As he loaded the lady's packages on her wagon, Jude noticed him. The tall blond man waved and then he and Bexley began to make their way over.

Jude waited until the woman's wagon pulled away before asking, "How's Joe?"

"About the same," Adam replied. "What are you two doing in town so early?"

"I'm here on ranch business," Bexley replied. "Then I'm staying on for the poker game."

"I'm here on my _own_ business," Jude said with a shrug. "There a law against a man coming into town on a Saturday I don't know about?"

"Sorry." Adam frowned. "After what happened to Joe, I guess everything seems suspicious."

"You're not thinking one of us had anything to do with it?" Bexley asked.

"No. No. Like I said, sorry." Adam felt bad. "I didn't mean to suggest anything like that. Why don't you fellows join me at the saloon later and I'll buy you a beer as an apology."

Jude looked at Bexley. He turned back with a smile. "Sounds good to me."

Later, as he returned the Bucket of Blood, Adam found the doctor was not back yet from making his rounds. The barkeep told him Phoebe was upstairs with Joe, so he went to the back room and located Bexley and Jude and then ordered three beers. After that he joined them at a table in the corner. For the moment, the establishment had only a few patrons. That was soon to change. The saloon would awaken as the sun went down and not sleep again until two or three in the morning.

Adam thanked the girl who delivered the beers as he sat down. After taking a sip of his, he kicked his chair back, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

God, he was weary!

Jude took a swig and then asked, "You get any sleep, Adam?"

"Some," he replied without opening his eyes.

"Was Joe awake at all? Was he able to tell you anything more?"

Adam opened his eyes and righted his chair. Rest was apparently not something he was going to find in the other men's company. "He woke up once or twice, but he was out of his head. I hope things will be clearer for him today." The man in black took another sip. "Bexley, did you remember anything else?"

Bexley's brown head shook. "I told you everything I know. I woke up and found Joe in the shape he arrived here in. I couldn't look for tracks last night, but I did on the way in today. There's plenty there. Nothing looked significant." He took a sip. "You know Pointer's Arch is a favorite spot for couples who are spooning."

"Been there myself a few times," Adam admitted. "When I was younger, of course."

"Did you send a message to your Pa?" Jude asked.

"Early this morning. Hopefully the rider will overtake Hoss and him before they get too far. They've only been on the road for a day, so they shouldn't have made it much farther than Reno." Adam paused to take a drink. While he did the saloon doors swung open and Doc Martin entered.

When he saw him, the older man headed his way.

"Adam. Boys," the doctor said, acknowledging their presence with a tip of his hat. Then he asked, his voiced laced with concern. "Who's with Joe?"

"Phoebe," Adam replied with a wan smile. "I'm not sure when it comes time to take Joe home that she's going to let him go."

The doctor nodded. "She's a fine girl and a good nurse. I think you should consider taking her up on her offer to go home with you. The Ponderosa could use a feminine touch and it would definitely be good for Joe."

Why did it surprise him that the Doc knew about Phoebe's offer? The older man seemed to know just about everything.

"I'm thinking about it," he replied. "You look tired, Doc. Would you like a drink or something to eat before you see Joe?"

"No thank you, Adam. I'm going to head up." The older man's gaze flicked to Bexley and Jude and then back to him. "Will you still be here when I get done with the examination?"

"I'm be in town as long as Joe is," he replied.

"Very good. I'll see you shortly then."

Adam watched the older man ascend the stairs and disappear around a corner. Then he stood up.

"You going somewhere, Adam?" Jude asked.

"I thought, while I am in town, that I may as well do some business. The Doc will be with Joe for a while." He paused, looking at the stair again. "Are you two going to stay here or head out?"

"You want us to wait until the Doc's done and let you know?" Bexley asked intuitively.

Adam nodded. "If it's no trouble."

Jude finished his beer and then signaled one of the girls to bring him another. "No trouble at all," he said with a smile. "We'll just start the game a little early."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright sat on a boulder by the side of the road. He looked up, noting the time by the sun, and then went back to removing his boots. It was nearly sundown and his feet were sore. He meant to work the pain out of them before they began walking again. He and Hoss had walked nearly ten miles and they were about worn out. A man could cover roughly twenty on foot in a day if pressed, but that didn't take into account the weather – which was brisk and breezy – or the fifty-plus years he had spent walking on them. Turning over his boots, Ben knocked the debris out of them and then sat them beside him. It felt good just to let his feet rest for a spell.

Since he was half his age, Hoss was still on his feet and had suggested he scout ahead. There really was no need, but he knew his son was having trouble sitting still. Each hour brought them closer to home and he had to admit that he was growing impatient as well. He would have preferred to be in the big blue chair by the fire sipping a brandy instead of out here in the wild using a rock as a seat. He and Hoss had talked about it and, if they could, intended to travel through the night. There was really little reason to stop and the sooner he was home, the sooner he could send one of the men to Winnemucca and get word to the horse trader that they were going to be late.

As he sat there, rubbing his feet, Ben's thoughts turned to the past. Where had they gone, those thirty years from the time he had married and lost Elizabeth and started out to pursue his dream? Though he rarely had a moment when he was astonished to find Adam a grown man, the fact that Joe was nearly one made him feel old – not in a bad way, but in the way a man did when his life was drawing near to its end. If his followed the pattern that was known to man, he might have no more than ten or fifteen years of living to go.

What kind of legacy would he leave behind?

Adam, he imagined, would return to the East one day. His oldest son was here for him and for his brothers, he knew that. And though Adam's heart might be in Nevada, linked to the land he had helped to clear and the home he had designed and created, there was a call he would have to answer one day.

Maybe soon.

Hoss, well Hoss would never leave this land. In the end it might be his alone. There was nothing he knew for certain, but Joseph had a little bit of what Adam had and he worried that his youngest would be drawn away one day, discontent with a rancher's life, and take off for parts unknown.

It was what a parent did, prepare your child for the world and for taking it on. Still, in every parent's heart was the love and need of the little children that had loved and needed _them_ – the ones who sought the safety of hearth and home.

"Pa."

Ben turned at the sound of his middle son's voice. The big man had returned without him hearing. "What is it, Hoss?"

"Someone's comin'."

Ben looked down. "I better get my boots on then."

His son nodded as he drew his gun and turned back toward the south. "It's a rider. He's comin' fast."

There was no reason the rider that approached should have had anything to do with them. Still, as he began to pull his boots back on, a chill snaked down Ben's back. It was almost a presentiment.

Somehow he knew, whoever it was, they were looking for him.

"He's almost here, Pa. What do you want to do?"

"Flag him down, son."

The big man looked at him. "What is it, Pa?"

"I'm not sure." He nodded toward the road. "But we're about to find out."

The rider came into view. It was young boy. As he approached Ben recognized him as Bill Whitman, one of their neighbor's middle boys who was around thirteen. When he arrived the boy slid from the saddle as only boys could do, without waiting for the horse to stop, and ran to his side.

"Mister Cartwright! I'm mighty glad to see you! But what are you doing here? I thought I'd have to ride all the way to Winnemucca."

Hoss came up beside them. "It's good to see you too, Billy. Our feet are _sure_ sore."

"Our horses were stolen the first night out, Bill, along with everything on them," Ben explained. "We've been walking ever since." The older man frowned. "Were you looking for us?"

The boy nodded. "I sure was." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a crumpled note. "This here's from Adam."

Ben took it. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I think so, sir. But I ain't gonna say. You better read it. That way you'll get Adam's version instead of the one off the street."

Hoss came to stand beside him. "That don't sound good, Pa."

Ben's brown eyes flicked to his son and then back to the note. He opened it with foreboding and quickly scanned the few lines it contained. As a pit opened in his stomach, he handed it to Hoss who read it and turned a grim face on him.

"What're we gonna do, Pa? We ain't got no horses. It's gonna take us another day to get home."

"Mr. Cartwright?" Billy broke in.

"Yes, son?" he answered, distracted.

"Is it about Joe?"

Bill Whitman knew his youngest, of course. They were not _that_ far apart in years. "Yes, Bill. It says Joe was injured during a robbery on the road coming home. Do you know anything more about it?"

"Only that I seen Doc Martin comin' and goin' day and night out of the Bucket. Me and Pa were stayin' in town, waitin on a shipment of supplies and – "

"The Bucket? What's Joe doing at the saloon?" he demanded.

The boy shrugged. "I don't rightly know, sir. I think it was closer than takin' him to the Ponderosa."

"I see." That meant Joe had been hurt badly. As he pondered what action to take, Ben's eyes lighted on the boy's horse. "Bill..."

"You can have her, sir."

The older man blinked. "What?"

"Mollie. My horse. You can have her, Mister Cartwright. I'll walk back with Hoss." The boy turned and looked at his middle son. "If'n that's all right with you, Hoss."

"It'll be just fine, Billy," the big man said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Son, I hate to leave you."

"You go take care of Joe, Pa. Don't you worry about me none." He looked at the boy. "We'll have a mighty fine time walkin' back to town, won't we, Billy?"

Ben extended his hand. When Billy took it, he shook the boy's again. "Thank you, son."

Seconds later the silver-haired man was mounted on Mollie and flying down the road toward his youngest son.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

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FOUR

Toward suppertime, as the poker game started in earnest, Doc Martin came down the stairs. The older man hesitated for a moment at the bottom and then, when he spotted him, motioned for him to follow. Adam rose from his seat and did so, more than content to leave the smoke and noise of a busy evening at the saloon behind. The air was brisk and he drew his collar up close as he stepped onto the boardwalk and the wind struck his face. From the feel of it, winter might come early this year.

Doc Martin was standing in the street, waiting for him.

"Doc?" he asked as he stepped off the deck to join him.

"I thought we'd talk in my office, Adam. Joe needs his rest, and it would be impossible in the saloon."

"And here I thought you had something to say that you didn't want anyone else to hear," Adam replied with a tight smile.

The older man's reaction was not what he expected. The doctor's jaw clenched and he pursed his lips. "You were always the perceptive one. Now, come on. I'm an old man and this cold is doing me no good."

They walked in silence through the dark to the doctor's office, passing several strangers including a bothersome drunk and a tall man in a fine San Francisco suit who grudgingly got out of their way at the last second. Once inside the office, the older man lit the lamp on his desk and then sat wearily in the chair behind it. He ran a hand over his eyes and looked up at him. "Adam, if you will, go the cabinet beside the door and bring the smallest bottle you find there to me."

"All right," he said. When he got there Adam found the key in the keyhole. He turned it and opened the door. The cupboard held several bottles of brandy, which he knew were used to treat patients, as well as a bottle of cheaper whiskey like you'd find in the saloon. The little one was bourbon and it dated to the first part of the century.

"Get two glasses."

Adam glanced back at him. "No, thanks, Doc. I haven't had anything to eat."

"Adam, get _two_ glasses."

Something turned in his stomach at the doctor's words. He waited for the moment to pass and then removed the bottle from the cupboard and picked up a pair of glasses from the table next to it. Returning to the desk, Adam placed the bottle and glasses on top of the smooth surface and sat in the chair opposite – the one usually reserved for family members who were waiting to hear if the news about their loved one was good or bad.

Like he was now.

The older man reached for the bottle. He removed the stopper and filled both glasses half-full. He shoved one toward him and then sat back and sighed.

"Is something wrong with Joe?" Adam blurted out, unable to bear the suspense any longer. When Doc Martin hesitated, he said, "Tell me straight, Doc."

"Paul, Adam. You're old enough to call me by my Christian name." The older man took a sip of his whiskey. "Drink that and then I will." With a sad smile he added, " _All_ of it. Doctor's orders."

Adam's eyebrows shot up but he obeyed, downing about half of the drink in one swallow. As the warmth coursed through him, he felt that shift – the one that came when the liquor hit an empty stomach and was about to kick hard. If he finished the whole thing that quickly, he'd be numb.

Then again, maybe that was the point.

"Well?" he asked.

Doc Martin was staring at his glass, not looking at him. "Adam, I've been doctoring for nearly four decades and I have dealt with just about everything and anything that can be done to a man by another man. I try not to despair, but at times it's difficult." He drew a long breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, his voice trembled. "At times it is hard to believe that we are _all_ God's creatures."

"Doc... Paul, what are you trying to tell me?" He swallowed over his fear. "Is Joe going to _die?"_

"No. No. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression." Paul knit his fingers around the glass and leaned forward. "Adam, I'm not prevaricating. What I am about to tell you is based on longtime experience, not fact. It's something you will never know for sure until Joe tells you himself – and he may _never_ tell you what happened. He may not _remember_ what happened." He lifted the glass and downed the remainder of the golden-brown liquid in it. "I'm sorry you're the one who has to bear this burden."

He was a grown man. Over thirty. He'd faced down mountain lions and wolves, battled Indians, and stood off an army of outlaws, and he was scared.

"What do you mean 'burden'?"

The older man looked at him. "There are things, Adam, that once a man has seen – or heard – he can never forget. Even if what he saw or heard ultimately turns out to be untrue, there's still a stain left on his soul."

"Paul, I'm going to be honest here. You're scaring me."

"I'm sorry, son. It's just that I think, in time, your brother will need someone to talk to and, Adam, I'm afraid – due to the circumstances – that's you."

 _Afraid?_ "Okay. So tell me."

"First of all, let me remind you that this is based on my diagnosis of Joe's injuries and nothing else. I could be wrong." The older man sat back in his chair. "What did _you_ think when you examined your brother more closely?"

The image of Joe's bruises flashed through his conscious mind – the imprints of fingers on his brother's neck, the marks on his thighs, and the fact that there were more on his backside. "I found it odd that Joe was attacked from the back instead of the front. Usually a man who beats someone wants them to see him and _he_ wants to watch them squirm."

"Yes. That struck me as odd too. The bruising on the inner thigh bothered me. It's part of what made me look further." The older man hesitated. "I won't go into the details, Adam, but what I found leads me to conclude that your brother has been assaulted."

For a moment he was confused. "Of course, Joe 's been assaulted," he countered, hearing the frustration in his tone. "That's what brought us here."

The doctor shook his head. "Adam, you're not listening. I didn't say Joe was beaten, though he definitely was. I said he was a _ssaulted_."

Time stopped.

"No."

The older man's eyes remained locked on his. "I'm sorry, Adam. All the signs point to Joe being taken advantage of by whoever attacked him. The only consolation is that he was unconscious for most of it."

Adam remained completely still for several heartbeats and then exploded out of the chair. Unable to contain the raw emotion that rushed into and over and through him, he began to pace the room like a caged lion. "God! No!" He turned on the older man. The word came out of his mouth again, soft as a prayer. " _God..."_

"I can't be certain, and that's the hard part. Only Joe knows what happened and his memory of what occurred may be buried so deeply it will never surface." The older man paused. "The problem is, even though he doesn't consciously remember it, the assault still happened and it may...change him."

"Change him how?" he asked as he fought for control.

"Joe's physical injuries will heal quickly. He's young and strong. But there will be other wounds, ones that are not seen. It may take some time, but they _will_ surface. Your brother may become quiet and grow sullen, or wild and reckless. There will be nightmares. Joe may feel like he's going through it all again. He may withdraw from you and from the rest of the family. He could become frightened and refuse to venture out. Or all of the above."

Adam stopped in his pacing. "You sound like you've dealt with this before."

"I am sorry to say that I have. This kind of assault, particularly on a young man that is attractive in a certain way that many would view as vulnerable, is more common than most think, especially here in the West where men highly outnumber women." The older man waited until he met his eyes. "There's another thing you need to understand, Adam. What happened to Joe has little to do with desire or attraction, though that can be a part of it. Like any other type of bullying, this sort of thing has to do with a need to own and to have power over someone else." The older man paused. "Now do you understand why I said it was a 'burden'?"

Adam dropped back into the chair. "Yeah. I understand."

"Do you want to tell you father, or would you rather I do it?"

Paul's words hung in the air.

Pa. _Dear God._ Of course, Pa would have to know.

"I'll tell him," he said, his voice breaking with the weight of it.

"I'm sure that's for the best." The older man rose and came to stand by him. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Adam, is there anything I can do for _you?_ "

As he sat there contemplating what the action of one unconscionable, unscrupulous and unprincipled man had done to his brother and what it was likely to do to his family, Adam's jaw grew tight. "No. I'm fine."

Paul's voice was quiet. "I seriously doubt that you are."

He looked up at him. "I'll kill him. I swear when I find out who did this, I will _kill_ him with my bare hands!"

" _If_ you find out – "

"Oh, I will. Have no doubt about that. With _God_ as my witness, no one is going to do something like this to a member of my family and go unpunished."

"And when the man is punished, if by 'punished' you mean 'dead', who will that help – Joe? Or are you thinking of yourself?" the older man asked softly.

"There _has_ to be justice."

"Yes, tempered with mercy. Let's concentrate on the mercy first, son. Take your brother home. Help him heal. Let Roy Coffee look for the man who did this."

"Roy can't know," he snapped. " _No one_ can know."

"I agree, but only because man is a flawed creature incapable of forgetting, even when he _is_ capable of forgiving. If this got out, it _could_ destroy your brother. We'll just give Roy the facts. Joe was robbed and beaten. That's more than enough for the law to hunt down the man who did it." The doctor ran a hand across his eyes again and then pinched the bone between them. "This old man has about had it. I'm for my bed. How about you?"

Adam shook his head. "I _can't_ sleep."

"Then go to Joe. Be there when he awakens, and remember, at the moment the burden is yours alone. Joe may have no memory of the assault."

"Oh God... I hope not."

"I have watched you and your brothers – Ben Cartwright's sons. If love can pull a man through this, Joe will be fine. Between you and your father and Hoss, I am sure he will heal even _if_ he remembers. It will just take time." The older man looked at him hard, as if sensing his need to be alone. "Adam, would you like to stay here for a while before returning to the saloon?"

"If it's not too much trouble," he said quietly, his voice robbed of all strength by the weight of the last day's events.

"Stay as long as you want. I'll be at my house if you need me. I'll check in on Joe again in a few hours. I imagine you'll be able to take him home tomorrow." The older man reflected a moment. "It would be best if he was home during his convalescence, surrounded by the things that give him security."

Adam nodded, well beyond words.

"I'll see you later today then. If you feel you are able, once you see Joe, try to get some sleep. You will do your brother little good if you are so tired you make mistakes. And Adam..."

"Yes."

"Again, I urge you. Let the _law_ take care of this. Your brother needs you now, at his side, not running off half-cocked looking for a shadow in the night."

A second later the door to the doctor's office closed and he was alone.

Adam remained where he was in the chair by the desk. As he contemplated what might have been done to his brother, his fingers began to drum on the chair's wooden arms. His breathing became rapid, his heart raced, and his skin prickled as if someone had staked him to the ground beside an ant hill and ordered all of the ants to run over him.

 _Assaulted?_ Joe?

Was such a thing _possible?_

And what – and _how_ – was he going to tell his father?

Adam closed his eyes, fighting the effects of the alcohol on a stomach that had had no food. He breathed deep, fighting for balance, seeking some kind of center. Slow down, he thought. _Slow_ down. Nothing was certain yet. Nothing would be until he talked to Joe. The doctor had been careful to make it clear that his 'diagnosis' was a speculative one. Maybe it _didn't_ happen. Maybe Joe had simply been beaten and robbed.

No. That didn't wash. Why would a robber take his clothes?

Ill at ease, Adam rose from the chair and walked to the window to look out on the town. How different it looked in the light of everything he had just heard. Wandering around out there was someone who could _do_ this to a man. Maybe it was even someone they knew...

No. _If_ it happened. Remember that. _If._

Remembering _that_ might be the only thing that kept him sane.

Feeling confined, Adam began to pace as he had before, thinking furiously. He needed to get Joe back to the Ponderosa. Maybe there, with familiar things around him, his brother would feel like talking. From the little he'd said it seemed Joe remembered being attacked, but it was unclear if he remembered anything about what happened after he was struck and knocked to the ground.

And straddled.

Adam closed his eyes. Sickened.

No. If. Remember, _if_.

If...

His eyes flew open. What if it did happen and Joe _never_ remembered? Would that be a _good_ thing? The Doc seemed to think otherwise. How? How could what a man _forgot_ hurt him? Adam drew several harsh breaths. And how could he tell his father when he wasn't sure it had happened at all? Like Paul Martin said, once a man heard those words they would never leave him. They would be a blight to his soul.

Could he _do_ that to his father when he wasn't sure?

What if he was the only one who ever knew? Could he take that?

Was he strong enough?

Adam pressed his hands to the sides of his head. It felt like it was going to explode. He turned back to the desk and stared at the bottle and the empty glass. Doc Martin had left them there – for him, he was sure. He could down the whole bottle and go blessedly numb and forget. Dear _God_ , how he wanted to forget!

But he couldn't.

There was still justice to be done. No matter whether or not any kind of assault had happened besides the beating Joe had taken, his baby brother had still been robbed and nearly killed and justice _had_ to be done.

He needed to see Roy.

Coming to a decision, Adam walked to the mirror that hung on the office wall and looked at his image. He was unkempt. His hair was in disarray and he had a full day's growth of stubble on his chin. The bags under his eyes had bags of their own. Looking around, he found some water and splashed it on his face, and then located a comb and ran it through his hair. After that, he looked again. Satisfied that he wouldn't frighten any children in the street, the black-haired man passed through the room to the door. Opening it, he stepped out and waited as several horses passed by. Then he headed for the jail.

He was halfway there when he heard someone call his name.

"Adam!"

Adam looked. Unfortunately, he didn't know whether to run _toward_ the man who shouted or _away_ from him.

It was Pa.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

His son looked like he had been to Hell and back.

Ben Cartwright dismounted, tethered his horse, and crossed over to Adam as quickly as he could. "Son. How's your brother? How's Joe?"

"He's okay, Pa," his eldest replied wearily.

Relief flooded through him. "Joe's _okay?_ From your message I thought..."

Adam frowned. "Sorry, Pa," he said as he ran a hand across his stubbled chin. "Joe's _not_ okay. I just meant that the Doc said there's no danger of him dying and he'll heal." His eldest paused. "Joe's been badly beaten. Worse than what happened with Reagan."

That gave him pause. Ben could still remember that moment when Hoss carried his badly beaten brother into the hotel where he had been staying, keeping watch over Adah Menken. At first, he had feared the boy was dead.

"By whom?" he demanded.

"I don't know, Pa."

The words were out before he thought better of them. "Don't you think you _should_ know?"

They struck Adam like a hand. Seldom had he seen his oldest boy come close to tears. He was now.

"I'm sorry, Pa," Adam replied, his voice breaking. "I've talked to the man who was with Joe. He was knocked out at the same time and doesn't remember a thing. I was just heading over to the jail to see if Roy could gather up some men and we could – "

"Who's with your brother?"

"One of the girls from the saloon." At his look, his son added, "It's Phoebe Howath. She's stayed with him since this happened. Joe's been kind to her and she feels she owes him." Adam met his skeptical stare. "I trust her, Pa."

"A saloon girl."

"What was I supposed to do?" his eldest demanded, his voice growing sharp. "Put Joe on a horse and ride him out to the ranch unconscious, with his backside's covered in bruises? The saloon was there and it was safe!"

"Wait." Ben frowned. "Wait. What? His _backside?"_

Adam fell silent. He nodded.

"Has Doc Martin seen him?"

"Several times."

"What does Paul think?"

His son drew a long breath. "The Doc says Joe was struck from behind. He was trussed up and then beaten when he was laying on the ground." Adam hesitated.

"And?"

Something flashed momentarily in Adam's eyes before he answered. "Whoever it was tried to strangle him, Pa. Joe has the marks of fingers on his throat."

The horror of it struck him – his baby boy brutalized by some man who cared no more for human life than for a chicken's whose neck he would wring to feed his belly. Ben closed his eyes briefly in a attempt to process what he had just heard, and then opened them and fixed them again on Adam. "Your note said the motive was robbery?"

Again, there was a slight hesitation. "The contents of his saddlebags were taken and..."

"Yes?"

"Whoever it was, they took Joe's clothes."

"His clothes?" Ben paused, seeking to stem the tide of anger that rose in him at the indignity of it all. "Adam, what _aren't_ you telling me?"

His son looked him square in the eye. "I swear, Pa, that's all I know for certain."

He sensed there was more. Adam was hiding something or at least keeping it close. Dropping it for the moment, Ben moved on to another question that was nagging him. "You said Joe had someone with him at the time of the attack. Who?"

Adam had that look. The one he wore as a boy when he knew the switch was coming. "Bexley Lanahan."

"Lanahan? Good God! Doesn't that boy ever listen?"

"I know you don't like Jude or Bexley, but they've both been a great help since this happened, especially Bexley. He's hurting too, Pa, and yet he's stayed with Joe when Phoebe's had to leave so Joe wouldn't be alone."

"Are you saying I've misjudged him?"

Adam shrugged. "I'm saying, give him a chance."

Ben chewed on it a moment and then he nodded. "All right. Now, take me to your brother."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The older man watched as his eldest son opened the door of one of the rooms on the saloon's second floor and stepped in. A second later a pretty young woman with golden-red hair exited. She nodded to him in passing but before he could say anything, headed quickly down the stairs.

It looked like she had been crying.

"Pa," Adam said.

As he entered the room Ben drew a deep breath, steeling himself for what he would see. He couldn't imagine Joe injuries this time could _actually_ be worse than the damage John C. Reagan's fists had inflicted.

He was wrong.

"Good God," he breathed as he looked down at Joe. " _Dear Lord_..."

 _How_ had this happened?

Joe's covers were thrown back so his upper body was exposed. He was curled to one side. On his upper arm, on the back of his shoulder, and on his neck there was redness and swelling. The worst of it was on his neck. The impressions left by fingers pressing into his flesh were deep and already passing from red to purple.

It looked as if someone had tried to snap his neck.

Ben threw his hat on the chair and sat on the bed beside his son. Reaching out, he gently touched Joe's sweat-soaked hair. "Joseph? Joseph, it's Pa."

"The Doc gave him a strong dose of laudanum," Adam said from the end of the bed. "He's been sleeping pretty heavily ever since."

Ben glanced at his son and nodded, and then tried again. Touching Joe's face, he said, "Joseph. It's your father."

At first there was no response, then his son seemed to swim up from somewhere. Joe's eyes rolled behind the lids and his cracked lips parted. A second later his son's eyelids fluttered and opened, revealing the green eyes beneath. In spite of the influence of the drug, they were filled with pain.

"Who...?" Joe murmured.

Ben caught hold of his hand and squeezed it. "It's me, son. Your pa. Your _pa_ is here."

"Pa..."

Listening to Joe's voice, so weak and pitiful and robbed of its normal vigor, was painful. He found himself trembling with his son.

"That's right. It's your pa."

When Joe spoke his words were slurred. "I...tried, Pa. I...tried to stop him..."

Ben glanced at Adam as his eldest shifted to Joe's other side. "Who, Joe? _Who_ did this to you?"

Joe grew agitated. He curled up more tightly and moaned. "No...".

Adam pressed it anyhow. "Joe? You've _got_ to tell us _who_ – "

"Adam, leave your brother be!" Ben commanded, stopping him short. "What's wrong with you? Can't you see your questions are upsetting him?"

"Pa, we _need_ to know – "

"Not now!"

Adam's jaw clenched. He nodded once and then left the room.

Ben considered going after him, but even as he did, Joe called him.

"Pa..."

He took Joe's other hand. "Yes, son?"

His youngest fought to focus on him. This time when Joe spoke his words were clearer, but they cost him dearly. "You...gotta know... I tried...to...fight. I couldn't win..." Tears began to flow down his son's cheeks. "I... _couldn't_ , Pa..."

"I know you did, son," he said, reaching out with his fingers and brushing back Joe's thick brown hair. "Now's not the time to talk about it. We can do that when you're stronger."

Joe murmured something else. He nodded as if content and then he was gone, lost in a drugged sleep.

Ben sat there, holding his son's hand for several minutes, contemplating everything that had happened so far. As he did, the young woman who had left earlier appeared in the open doorway. She stood there with her hand on the jamb as if waiting for permission to enter.

He pivoted to look at her. "Miss Howath, isn't it?"

She smiled. "Call me Phoebe. Everyone does."

"Phoebe," Ben repeated as he turned back to Joe and touched his face. "Thank you for looking after my son. Adam told me what a good job you've done."

She hesitated. "That's what I'm here about, Mister Cartwright. Your _other_ son. He needs you."

"Other son?" he asked, puzzled. "You mean Adam?"

She nodded.

It was only then he remembered Adam rushing out of the room – because of _his_ words. "Where is he?"

"In the alley behind the saloon." Again, she paused. "I think you should go to him."

"Is he hurt?"

Phoebe stepped into the room. "Not hurt, no, but hurting."

Ben frowned. He looked at Joe and then back to the young woman. "Will you stay with Joe?"

The redhead smiled. "Gladly."

The older man touched his son's face one more time and then rose and surrendered his seat. As Phoebe took it, he said, "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Ben left the room and hurried down the stairs. He knew the way out through the back door that emptied into the alley and took it without asking the proprietor if it was all right. As he passed through the saloon the sounds of normal life offended him. Nothing was normal nor would it be until Joe was healed and whoever had done this hateful thing to his son and to their family was caught and punished.

Stepping out of the door Ben halted. He looked both ways and saw no one. Walking to the end of the alley that backed the saloon he headed for the street, passing by the livery. A sense of movement in the stable's interior caught his attention. The silver-haired man stopped where he was. He waited a moment and then went in. It wasn't the movement that drew him there. It was the sound he heard.

Someone was sobbing.

Quietly, Ben moved through the building's interior, passing the stalls both full and empty until he arrived at the back. He stopped then and listened again. He could hear someone breathing hard, fighting to control their emotions. Following the sound the older man turned and entered the last of the stalls.

His eldest was standing in the back, his arms splayed against the wall. When he heard him, Adam straightened up and ran a hand across his face, striking away the tears. "Go away, Pa," he growled.

"Adam, I regret my words to you. I was angry. Joe..."

His son shook his head. "It's not you, Pa. It's me. I... I let Joe down." Adam turned his hazel eyes on him. In them was a world of pain. " _I_ let Joe down. I should have _been_ there. Should have _protected_ him. _I'm the oldest!"_

He took a step toward his son. "Being the oldest doesn't make you responsible for your brother's choices. Joe's a man now. He – "

"Joe's a _kid!"_ Adam snapped. "I should never have given in to him and let him stay in town. He didn't want to look like a baby in his friends' eyes. I humored him and now, look what happened." He struck his chest with his fist. "Look what _I_ did!"

Adam's grief was palpable.

"Son," the silver-haired man said as he took a step forward. "You're exhausted. You need to rest. Things will look different after you do."

"No, Pa." Adam spoke between teeth clenched in agony. "I need to find whoever did this to Joe and _break_ them in two."

"How will that help your brother now?" he asked quietly.

Adam began to pace. "That's what Doc Martin said too. I don't know. I don't _know_ , Pa _. But I have to do something!"_

"Go sit with your brother."

His son stopped. Adam's chin fell to his chest. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet, it was near impossible to hear.

"I can't, Pa. I... _can't_."

He was almost close enough to touch him. Just a step or two more. "Adam, what's happened to Joe is upsetting, but this – what is this? What's eating at you, boy?"

Adam's troubled gaze fastened on him. There were more tears, unspent in his eyes. "It happened on my watch. _I'm_ responsible." His voice broke. The next time his son spoke it came out in a whisper. "Dear God, Pa, I'm _responsible."_

There was something here beside Joe being beaten and beyond the fact that his brother might have died. Ben had no idea what it was, but knew it would be important he find out.

"Adam, when you feel guilty, it's not your sin you hate but yourself, and when you hate yourself, you can't love anyone else. Your brother needs you. _I_ need you."

"No, you don't. You _don't_..." His son's head shook. "No." Adam drew a shuddering breath. "You don't understand, Pa. Joe may _never_ be the same."

"Did the doctor tell you that, or is that what you think?"

"Oh, the Doc told me," he scoffed. "He made it quite clear."

This was something new, though in the state Adam was in it might have more to do with his interpretation of what the doctor said than anything else.

The older man held his son's gaze. "Adam, tell me what this is about."

Adam sniffed. His throat was so tight when he spoke that the words barely came out. "I...can't. At least, not...now. You've got to trust me, Pa." A tear spilled down his cheek. " _Do_ you trust me, Pa?"

It was a plea.

Ben drew a breath. He let it out in a word, "Always."

His son began to shake. The older man did not hesitate but went to him and took him in his arms. "Let it out, son. Let it all out."

Like a storm Adam broke.

Ben held him until it passed.


	3. Part Three

FIVE

Phoebe Bird Howath closed the lid on the suitcase she had packed and then walked to the window of her borrowed room and looked out. The wagon Ben Cartwright had hired to carry Little Joe home was parked in front of the saloon. Adam Cartwright crouched in its bed. The black-haired man was laying out blankets, creating a warm nest to cocoon his injured brother in for the ride back to the Ponderosa. It would not be an easy one. It was twenty miles or more to the spread and in a wagon, traveling slowly, with its driver doing everything he could to avoid jarring his precious cargo, the trip could easily take half a day. Sheriff Coffee had come and gone, asking questions and telling – well, _ordering_ really – the Cartwrights to leave everything to him. She'd noted the set jaws and the reluctant nods that warning was met with. Doc Martin was with Little Joe now, preparing his patient as best he could for the arduous journey. She'd given Adam every spare blanket she could find plus an old feather ticking that was no longer in use to pad the wagon bed. She hoped that feathering Little Joe's nest would keep him from being in pain for the duration of the journey.

Crossing back to her suitcase, Phoebe lifted the lid and looked at the contents inside. She'd been surprised by how few 'decent' dresses she had. Though she'd been at the Bucket for five years, she'd worked the floor for less than half that time. At twenty-one, she had two years experience of pleasing men and for those two years near every dress she'd bought or made was meant to do just that. Her looks _were_ her trade. With her pa dead, someone had to make money to support the family. Her eldest brother had left to do so by working in the mines. He'd written once or twice and then the letters stopped. Five years later they had no idea if Castor was alive or dead. Her little brother and sister were much younger than she was and were still in school.

They were just babies, really.

She'd tried working as a maid, cooking and cleaning for the folks in the fancy houses back where she came from. Every time there had been trouble. Sometimes it was jealous wives and other times, their lustful husbands. The last time she'd worked for a single man who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. She'd run from him after he beat her, traveling as far and as fast as she could, and ended in Virginia City. Once in town she'd answered an advertisement that said the Bucket of Blood was in need of 'hostesses'. Soon after that her life as a saloon girl had begun.

As she closed the suitcase, Phoebe heard a sound in the hall. The door was open and so she looked to see who it was. A second later Adam Cartwright appeared. He must have come in to check on his brother.

She rose and went to meet him. "How's Little Joe?"

"He's still with the Doc," Adam said. "I was actually looking for you. Do you need any help with your things?"

"That's sweet of you to ask, Adam, but I can manage. I only have one suitcase."

His eyes flicked to the case. It was a big one.

"That looks like a man-size job," the handsome man with the black hair said, a smile touching his lips.

She looked. In truth, it was. Returning the smile, she said, "All right. I surrender. You can carry it." As he headed into the room, Phoebe added, "Are you really sure it is all right for me to go to the Ponderosa with you?"

He took the case in hand. "I thought Pa told you it was."

The redhead winced. "Your father seems kind, but he is a little..."

"Intimidating?" Adam snorted. "Trust me, Pa's bark is _definitely_ worse than his bite."

"I'm... I'm grateful he agreed to let me go with you to help with Little Joe, but to tell the truth, I don't really understand why. Your pa doesn't know me." She hesitated. "Really, _none_ of you know me."

Adam put the suitcase down. "For one thing Doc Martin vouched for you. He said the care you have given Joe is excellent. And for another," he paused, "I don't think you want to be here. I think you'd rather be anywhere else."

She blinked back tears. "I don't mind. It's a job."

"You're not a very good liar."

One of the tears fell and slipped down her cheek. She struck it away. "Is that a badthing?"

"No. That's a _good_ thing." Adam hesitated as if considering how appropriate his next words would be. "Phoebe, I think this may be your chance to escape. You've done so much for Joe. To thank you, we'd like to help you get away and get a fresh start."

She dipped her head. "I...can't."

"Why not?"

"You don't understand, Adam." Another tear fell. "This is the only kind of place that will have me."

"No, I don't understand. _Make_ me."

"I can't... I – "

A shout made her stop. She turned to the door even as a man's voice carried up the stair, loud and urgent.

"Adam? Pa! Are you here? _Pa?"_

The man in black released her and crossed to the door. "Up here, Hoss!" he called back.

She had forgotten what a mountain of a man the middle Cartwright brother was. He made two of Little Joe. As Hoss entered the room and drew abreast his brother he shot her a puzzled look and then asked, "Where's Joe? Is he all right?"

Adam grimaced. "Joe's out of danger," he replied. "But he's not 'all right'."

"Can I see him?"

"Doc Martin's with him right now – and Pa." Adam picked up her suitcase again. "Hoss, why don't you come down with me to the wagon? You can help me finish getting it ready for Joe and I can fill you in while we work. By the time we're finished, the Doc should be done."

Hoss had to think about it. It was legendary in the town about the big man's ferocious love of his little brother. She could only imagine his worry and pain. Finally, he nodded. "If you say so, Adam."

Adam clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I say so," he answered with a pale grin. Then he turned to her. "Phoebe, we'll be twenty minutes or so, I imagine. Will you be ready to leave by then?"

"I'm ready now."

Hoss looked at her. "Are you coming with us, Miss Phoebe?"

"Phoebe is going to watch over Joe while we catch up on everything that we've had to neglect at the Ponderosa over the last few days." He smiled again. "Doc Martin thought it would be a good thing for little brother to have a woman's touch."

"I imagine he's right," the big man said as he tipped his hat. "Welcome to the family, Miss Phoebe."

A little breath caught the tears Hoss' words brought to her eyes.

If only.

Moving Joe was as agonizing as looking at what had been done to him. Ben had thought to carry his boy himself, but when he gathered Joe into his arms and tried to pick him up, his son cried out in pain. Finally, he had opted to place Joe on a blanket and use it as a kind of litter, which the four of them – him, Hoss, Adam, and Paul Martin – carried down the stairs and out to the wagon. As it was midday there were a good many onlookers who kept a solemn watch as they placed Joe in the wagon. Some of them he recognized. A few were enemies, more were friends, and still others, strangers, but all of them looked on with sympathy – or maybe, it was empathy.

Most were parents. Most knew what it was like to have a hurting child.

"Pa, Little Joe's all set," Hoss said as he came to rest beside him.

Ben looked at his middle son. Hoss hadn't said much since he'd seen Joe for the first time. He'd watched the big man pass through disbelief to rage, and then to a quiet place where determination and doing what was necessary formed a bandage over grief and pain. It was Hoss's nature to be troubled by anything that was wounded. He couldn't count how many times they'd had cages at the ranch house or in the barn, filled with injured birds and animals that Hoss nursed back to health. 

This was his _brother._

Ben moved to the side of the wagon and looked into the bed. It was a crisp day, not too cold but definitely a signal of winter's close arrival. He could tell it was going to be a bitter season. There would be snow in the mountains soon. Because of the wintry air they had dressed Joseph first in a shirt and pants, and then wound several robes about his thin frame. Phoebe had provided blankets both to go under and over his boy and Joe was nestled now like a babe in a cradle only waiting a blazing fire to rest beside. His youngest son was on the cusp of manhood. In some ways, Joe was _already_ a man. But looking at him now, swaddled like an infant, it seemed only a day before that he had been a little boy.

"You want me to drive the wagon, Pa?" Hoss asked, stirring him from his reverie.

"Yes. I'll take Buck, and Adam has Sport. Phoebe will ride along with you."

Hoss removed his hat and scratched his head. "She sure is a pretty little thing. But Pa, do you think she's the right one to look out for Joe?"

He had his own doubts.

Adam had none.

"I am trusting your brother on this one." Ben paused. "I sense...somehow, that Adam needs that right now."

The big man replaced his hat. "I ain't _never_ seen Adam like this, Pa."

"I know and that troubles me. Joe has been beaten up before, and badly. There seems to be, I don't know, something more this time for your older brother."

"Somethin' Adam ain't tellin' us?"

He let out a sigh. "I hope not. I hope your brother knows there is nothing that would alter my feelings for either him or Joe."

"Joe, Pa? You think it's about Joeand not Adam hisself?"

"I don't know, Hoss. I just know that Adam is carrying a weight of guilt that could break him." He shook his head. "It seems I have _two_ wounded sons."

"You want me to talk to him?"

Ben touched his son's shoulder. "Not now. Maybe when we get home."

Releasing Hoss, Ben turned his attention to his youngest again. Paul Martin had given Joe another dose of laudanum in an attempt to keep him under as they traveled over the Virginia City road. He was completely out at the moment, but the doctor had warned before he left to make his rounds that any substantial jolt could bring his son back to consciousness, and then the road home would prove an agony for his child.

"It'll be good to get Joe home, Pa."

"Yes," he agreed as he reached out to touch his son's curly brown head. "Yes, it will."

At that moment Ben heard Adam's voice. His eldest had been in the saloon settling up with the proprietor and was just now stepping out of the establishment with Phoebe Howath on his arm. Adam was honoring the deal they had made with the redhead's boss by compensating him for the time she would be away. The older man pursed his lips and grew thoughtful. He didn't know why but the doctor had backed Adam up, coming very close to _insisting_ that they have a woman take care of Joe. It was an odd request but he'd honored it, even not knowing why it was made.

As Adam approached, his son glanced in the back of the wagon. The look out of his eldest's eyes was indefinable. There were so many emotions roiling through their hazel depths at once that they were impossible to decipher.

"How's Joe doing?" he asked.

"As comfortable as can be expected," the older man replied. Removing his hat, he said, "Miss Howath."

The redhead smiled. "Mister Cartwright. Thank you again for letting me come."

"You will be most welcome at the Ponderosa," he said. "Hoss, help the lady into her seat."

"I'd rather..." Phoebe paused. "If I might, could I ride in the back with Little Joe? That way I would be there if he needed me."

Ben considered it. "It won't be very comfortable."

"That's all right. I'm not worried about my own comfort, only his."

The older man nodded to Hoss and then watched as his son lifted the young lady into the wagon and helped her settle beside his brother before taking his own seat. Ben had a sense that Phoebe Howath's interest in his youngest son went deeper than a simple concern for someone who was hurt. He hoped he was not inviting trouble by bringing her along. Then again, if the redhead _was_ sweet on Joe, she would certainly attend him better than any other woman he could find!

Adam mounted Sport and came alongside the wagon. "We're ready to head home, Pa."

 _Home_. How he longed for it.

In less than a minute Ben Cartwright was settled on Buck's back and the five of them began to long solemn ride to the Ponderosa.

Hoss Cartwright stood staring down at his little brother where he lay in the wagon bed. He reached out and touched Joe's hand and then turned and headed for the tree under which Phoebe Howath sat. They were midway through their journey and had stopped to let Joe rest. It had been a hard ride. Driving the wagon as he was, he'd heard every gasp and groan his little brother made as the cart bumped over rocks and fell into the inevitable rut. He'd done his darnedest to make sure it was the smoothest ride anyone had ever taken along the Virginia City road, but by the very nature _of_ the road, that had proven near impossible.

Hoss tipped his hat at Phoebe and then sat down next to her. It had been just about all he could do to peel the pretty little gal from his brother's side. She sat now, with a blanket tossed around her shoulders, using a boulder as her chair back. The plate of food he had given her remained untouched on her lap as she stared off into the distance, her mind as far away as the house they headed for.

"Penny for your thoughts," Hoss said.

Phoebe started. "What? Oh." She laughed. "Was I being a poor companion?"

"I weren't thinkin' about me, Miss Phoebe, but about you. You look like somethin's troublin' you."

"I'm sorry. It's just that I am used to being with men who are only interested in what I can provide for _them_ , not men who want to look after me." She looked chagrinned. "Sometimes it's hard to remember there _are_ men who want to do that."

Hoss glanced at his pa and Adam. Both were standing near the wagon.

"You've had a hard time of it, haven't you, Miss Phoebe?"

"Just 'Phoebe', Hoss. Though I appreciate the courtesy of being thought of as a 'lady'." She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "That's something else I don't get too often."

"If you don't mind my asking, Miss – Phoebe, how come you ended up in a place like the Bucket of Blood?"

She looked at him. "Simple. My family needed food. Oh, I tried a few other professions but...they didn't work out. Someone suggested I check out the Bucket of Blood and I guess I was pretty enough to land the job."

He smiled. "You _sure_ are pretty."

That made _her_ smile. "You really think so?"

"I've seen a pile of girls and you are definitely at the top of the heap."

She laughed. "And where have you seen this 'pile of girls'?"

The big man raised his eyebrows. "Mostly trailin' behind my little brother."

Phoebe turned and looked at the wagon. The next sentence came out in a sigh. "Little Joe _certainly_ is good looking."

So she was _another_ one. Whatever baby brother had, he was going to have to figure out how to bottle it and sell it. He could make a fortune!

"Well, I wouldn't know much about that."

She turned back toward him. "I want you to understand Hoss that that is _not_ why I came along, or why I...like Little Joe, in spite of what I am sure your father thinks. Maybe Adam too."

"No?"

She shook her head. "Little Joe's a gentleman. I've made it all too clear to him what _I'd_ like and he's politely refused to take me up on it. Your brother's treated me like a lady every time. There have been other things too." Phoebe let out a little sigh. "There are men... Men who want what I do _not_ wantto give them. If you've wondered lately where Little Joe got that shiner he came home with, defending my 'honor' was probably the cause."

He nodded. "That's my Little Joe."

She looked directly at him. "You're very close, aren't you?"

"Me and Joe?" He held up two entwined fingers. "Like this."

"This has to be very hard on you. What happened to Little Joe, I mean."

He drew a deep breath. "Well, Phoebe, I weren't there to protect him and I shoulda been."

"Adam feels the same way."

"It's how it is with us. Me and Joe and Adam. We got us different mothers, but we all got the same pa and that's the tie that binds us. You won't find three brothers who's more close." He grinned. "Even if we do scrap now and then."

"You wouldn't be human if you didn't. Castor and I, that's my older brother, we were never close. He was always with pa, and since pa was a drunk, well... I'm closer to my little brother and sister, but even there, there is a distance – as if we are afraid to love too much and then be hurt _too_ hard when one of us fails the other."

He was silent a minute. "That's a sorry way to be, Phoebe, if you don't mind my sayin' so."

"No. I don't mind. You're right." She handed him her plate and stood up. "I think I will go see if your father needs me to take over. I imagine he and Adam have other things to do."

"It sure was nice gettin' to know you better. But then, I guess we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted since you'll be stayin' with us for a while."

"Oh, it probably won't be that long. I'm sure Little Joe will recover quickly," she said, though she sounded like she didn't believe it.

"I hope you're right. I _sure_ do hate seein' him like this."

Phoebe stepped over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Then she turned and headed for the wagon.

Hoss watched her go. He noted that she halted a few feet away from his pa and Adam, as if she didn't want to interrupt them.

The big man rose and tossed the remainder of his food aside.

He did wonder just _what_ it was they was talkin' about.

"Pa, I told you. I had too much to drink too quickly last night and on an empty stomach," Adam insisted. "I'm all right. It was just...everything coming together at once when I was too tired to cope."

His father pinned him with that look – the one that made lumber barons and mine owners squirm. "You didn't look _or_ sound all right."

"Is it utterly impossible for you to believe that I had a moment when I lost control? I am human after all!"

"It's completely possible to believe and completely acceptable, but it's not _you_ , son." The older man drew a breath. "Adam, I _know_ you are holding something back."

"I'm not, Pa." He said it, and then realized he had said it entirely _too_ quickly. Adam looked down and then back up at his father who was staring at him with a mixture of disapproval and skepticism. "Look, Pa, I have told you everything I _know_ is true. What more is there I can do?"

"Tell me what you are thinking that may or may not _be_ true."

He thought a moment and then shook his head. "No."

That took the older man aback. "No?"

Adam considered his words carefully. "Pa, I want what is best for Little Joe and for the family. What I think or don't think is _possible_ will do no one any good unless it's proven to be true. Aren't you the one who always tells us to stay away from idle speculation and conjecture, and to keep our mouths shut until we have the facts?"

He had him there. "In other circumstances, Adam. But this is your _brother_ – "

"I completely disagree. Speculation could hurt Joe worse than the blows he took."

His father frowned. "Adam, that's an odd thing to say."

He knew he was waltzing close to disaster. "Pa, I asked you to trust my judgment and you said you would. Are you going back on that?"

He watched his father weigh the needs of one son against the other. "All right – for now. But understand this, if I think whatever you are holding close is important to your brother's recovery, I won't stand by and let it remain a secret."

That was a hard word. _Secret_. He thought of what he was doing more as a kindness – a service even, to and _for_ Joe. Adam chewed his lip for a moment. "Pa, I'll make you promise. If I find the facts, you will be the first to know. And even if I don't, if I think Joe would be better off because I told you, I'll do that too. No matter the consequences."

The older man's jaw was tight. "Son, I know that. And in spite of everything, I hope you know that I do trust you."

He half-smiled. "I know, Pa." At that moment Adam noticed Phoebe lingering nearby, trying not to listen. He tilted his head in her direction. "We have company."

Ben looked. "The girl's a puzzlement."

"No, she's not. She's in love with Joe."

His father's dark brows peaked. "You knew that and you still insisted on bringing her along?"

"Pa, Phoebe's different. She doesn't belong at the Bucket of Blood. I just thought... Well, I thought that maybe we could help _her_ while she was helping Joe. She's had a hard life and very few chances to make it better."

The older man smiled. "Now, _that's_ you!" he said, poking his chest with the index finger of his other hand.

"Do you still want me to ride ahead?"

"Yes, someone needs to let Hop Sing know what is going on so Joe's room will be prepared. Oh, and put Miss Howath in the room downstairs off of the dining room." His father smiled. "You're brother is in bad shape, but there's no reason to invite trouble."

"Let's hope having a pretty girl around has Joe feeling up to mischief soon," Adam snorted.

The silver-haired man nodded.

"Come on, son. Let's go home."

Ben Cartwright closed the door to Joseph's room quietly behind him. The day was almost done and, much as he hated to leave him, he had business to attend to before turning in. Life moved on no matter what. He'd learned that long ago. His education had started with Elizabeth's death and then Inger's – his beautiful second wife who had taught him to live again and then died so soon. Then Marie had been taken. Still, in the course of life, mothers gave their lives bringing new ones into the world, men died fighting for what they believed. These were the things a man expected. The death of a child before their parent – especially one who had made it to maturity – was not. And though Joe was not in danger of dying, his son could have easily been killed. He had examined Joe's injuries again. The savagery of the assault still bothered him. If it was a robbery, though the man who committed it might have felt a need to bind him, there was no need for holding Joe down and nearly throttling him.

Of course, Joe could have fought fiercely against his attacker.

But then again, if he was tied...

No. There was something here that didn't add up. It was almost as if the attack on Joseph was personal, as if it was fueled by a rage nearly _past_ understanding and a need he understood only to well – that of power over another man. It had been troubling him since he had seen Joe's injuries the first time. There was something familiar about them and, in a way, about Adam's reticence to speak about what he thought had happened. Ben wished he could pin it down, but there were so many other things crowding out concentration – the search for the man who had done this, his two sons' pain, the need to not overlook Hoss's, the untested and unknown young woman living in his house, and the daily needs of the Ponderosa, work on which had nearly ground to a halt with none of them there to supervise or issue orders.

The older man finished descending the stairs. He went to the kitchen first and gave Hop Sing instructions regarding the next day, and then headed for the entryway. After pulling on his coat, Ben opened the heavy door and stepped outside. It was late in the day and the night was going to be an unusually cold one. Nevada weather, of course, was as unpredictable as the land itself. Some Novembers proved to be unnaturally warm and others, like this one was shaping up to be unseasonably cold. The setting sun, however, was spectacular. The entire sky was ablaze.

Ben went to the wooden table on the porch and took a seat on its edge, permitting himself a moment to enjoy the view. As he did, he was drawn back to his days of sailing on the seas. He'd told his boys some of the lore and knew now, due to scientific advances, that those old phrases often proved true. 'Red sky at morning, sailors take warning' came from the fact that there was a great deal of water vapor present in the atmosphere and since clouds come in from the west, when they were red, it meant rainy weather was expected. And then there was the opposite phrase. The one every seaman liked best. 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight'. This meant the weather had improved and that sunlight was being reflected on the clouds, making the sky crimson. Sometimes he missed it, that life on the sea. There had been a camaraderie between men there the likes of which he had never known on land, since each one's life depended on all the others. Oh, there had been fistfights and brawls and everything you would expect from a group of men cooped up together for years without the softening touch of a woman, but for the most part, they coexisted in harmony.

For the most part.

Ben's heart began to race. He closed his eyes and fought for a memory he had almost buried. On one of the ships he had sailed when young – before he became First Mate – there had been a man found half-dead below deck. An officer. He had been a lieutenant. Ben continued to reach into the past. His name? _What_ was his name? Bates? No, Slade. Thomas Slade. Thomas had been a handsome young buck with a head of curly golden-blond hair and bright blue eyes, who had advanced almost _too_ quickly through the ranks and looked out of place next to the older, harder, and more seasoned officers. An investigation had been launched into what happened and then mysteriously abandoned. The lieutenant had been some time in recovery and he had been one of the first Able Seamen assigned to take him his food and see to his needs, which included helping him to dress. He remembered the shock he felt the first time he saw Slade's injuries, which included angry bruises turning from red to black on his backside and legs –

And at the base of his neck.

The lieutenant pulled through, but he was never the same. He became sullen and remote and developed an explosive temper. Shortly after their year long voyage ended Slade left the navy. Sometime later he heard the lieutenant had died, the victim of the bottle and his own misery which it seemed he could not overcome.

On shipboard no one spoke of the incident again – at least not openly. But there were rumors. The word for what happened to Thomas changed from 'attack' to 'assault', and late one night, after one of the Ordinary Seamen was reported to have gone overboard and drowned, he heard a man declare that 'the bastard' deserved it for the unspeakable thing he had done to the young officer, robbing him of his manhood and ultimately, his life.

"Joseph," the older man breathed, devastated. "Joe...

"No."

SIX

It was early morning and the sun was above the horizon. It's warm light streamed through the dining room window, creating a pale pink glow that extended to the great room where Adam Cartwright sat reading. No one else was up. Adam found the light soothing and the silence therapeutic, even if it did make it easier for his mind to stray to places it did not want to go. He'd slept in fits the night before, waking at every footfall. His father had come in very late, near three in the morning. That was unusual for a man who prided himself on keeping a tight schedule and who had to be up early to see the day's work begin. He'd opened his door a crack and watched the older man go to Joe's room. His father stood before the door for several heartbeats and then opened it and passed inside. It was twenty minutes or more before he came out. When he did, the older man's shoulders were stooped, as though they bore a great weight. They all felt it, it was just that _he_ was the only one who knew the source and meaning of that weight.

Or was he? Did even he _really_ know?

Adam slammed the book down on the table beside him. _God!_ If he only knew for sure one way or the other!

Leaning on the arm of the chair, Adam pressed his lips to the back of his hand and looked up the stair, thinking of his baby brother lying up there only half-conscious. It had been over two days since the assault on Joe had happened. Roy Coffee had come out the day before to ask if he and Hoss would join the posse that was being formed. They'd both been ready to accept – _raring_ to, really – until they saw their father's face. It chafed at him to let other men seek justice for his brother but, for now, he was needed here.

Doc Martin had come around suppertime the night before to examine Joe and had pronounced him on the mend. The older man left a bottle of laudanum in Joe's room, instructing them to administer it only if he was in extreme need. The Doc admitted he was concerned that Joe might become addicted and said that little brother needed to begin to heal and sleep naturally. That meant Joe might be conscious today, and coherent. Adam sucked in air and rose to his feet.

Talking to Joe about what happened was going to be the hardest thing he had _ever_ done in his life.

Then again, maybe he would talk to his brother and Joe would say something that would put his mind at ease. It _could_ all be coincidence – the fact that Joe was bruised on his backside and legs. Adam halted. He scowled. Right. It was unrealistic to think that. If Joe had simply been beaten and robbed, he might have been able to convince himself that nothing more had happened.

Unfortunately, there was the matter of his brother's missing clothes.

No, he had to face it. The object of the robbery had not been what Joe carried, but _Joe_ himself.

With a sigh, Adam headed for the kitchen. A few minutes before he had nosed the scent of coffee and that meant Hop Sing was up and in the midst of the preparations for breakfast. He could use a good strong cup of coffee. He had a lot to do today and all he needed was to fall asleep in the saddle. As Adam headed that way, a knock on the front door stopped him. For a heartbeat or two he stood there, torn between the coffee and being a good neighbor. His pa had trained him too well. The latter won out and he headed for the door.

When he opened it he found Bexley Lanahan standing outside. "Kind of early for a visit isn't it, Bexley?" he asked.

"Sorry, Adam." At his gesture, the other man stepped into the room and removed his hat. "I was on my way into town for the boss and saw the light, so I thought I'd stop. This is the first opportunity I've had to check on Joe since the robbery." The brown-haired man's eyes flicked to the stair. "How's he doing?"

"It's hard to say. The Doc's kept him drugged since it happened."

"So Joe hasn't told you anything?"

Adam shook his head. "Maybe today. Doc Martin said to back off the medicine."

The other man looked hopeful. "That's gotta be a good sign, right?"

"Yeah." He hadn't seen Bexley since that first night or quite this close before. Though he had fared better than Joe, the brown-haired man had been beaten as well. One side of Bexley's face was purple, with a few of the bruises heading for green. He might have imagined it, but it looked like the imprint of the side of a pistol had been left on his cheek. "How are _you?"_

Bexley snorted. "Head hard as stone. I'm fine."

"Have _you_ remembered anything else?"

The other man shook his head. "I haven't. I heard a noise and Joe and I dismounted. We split up and went searching, and then someone pistol-whipped me. That's it until I woke up and found Joe."

He had talked to Bexley several times. Every time the story was the same.

Adam ran a hand along the back of his neck and rubbed it to ease the stress. "I guess we won't know any more until we talk to Joe – if we do then."

"What do you mean?"

"The Doc said Joe was struck hard enough that he may _never_ remember what happened."

Bexley frowned. "That'd be a shame, wouldn't it? Letting someone get by with what they did?"

Adam's jaw clenched. "A shame? You might call it that."

His brother's friend looked hard at him. "You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you, Adam? Like go off half-cocked, looking for whoever did it on your own?"

"Stupid? Me? Nah. Let's call it _brash_ , shall we?" he replied. "You know, Bexley, I would if I had the slightest lead, but I don't."

"Nothing then?"

"No."

Bexley returned his hat to his head. "Well, I'll be moving on. Mister Hansford sent me into town for supplies for that cattle drive we're heading out on in a few days. I'd best be on my way. He was kindly about my being late the other day and I don't want to abuse his trust."

"You're a good man, Bexley. Thank you for all you did for Joe."

The other man shrugged it off. "That's what friends are for." He started to leave and then turned back. "Oh, Jude said he might stop by later." He winced. "That is, if you think your Pa would let him in. I know he ain't too fond of him."

"Pa's not unreasonable, just cautious. Jude will be welcome if he's come to check on Joe."

"I'll tell him that. It would be around suppertime."

Adam watched the other man go and then closed the door. As he did, he heard a sound that drew his attention to the stair.

His father was descending.

"You're up early," the older man said when he noticed him.

"I couldn't sleep and came down to read. What about you?"

"The same."

"I heard you come in last night," Adam said. "It was pretty late."

"For an old man, you mean?"

For a second he didn't know if his pa was serious or not. A slight smile told him he wasn't. "Yes, for an _old_ man."

His father stared at him, hard. "I was thinking."

"Oh. About what happened?"

"What happened, yes. And about you."

Adam's black brows winged toward his hairline. "Me?"

"Yes, you, and your brother, and the love between you."

"Joe and me, you mean?" When his father nodded, he shrugged. "If 'love' means being constantly torn between wanting to knock someone's head into the wall, and worrying whether or not you might have done some damage when you did, that would be me."

"Adam, I'm serious."

He looked down. "I know you are, Pa."

The older man hesitated. "Do you remember that black dog you had when you were a little boy? The one I got you after we lost Inger."

It had been a long time. "Yeah, Pa, I remember."

"What was his name?"

"Dog, I think," Adam laughed. "Maybe Pal."

"Do you remember how he'd shy away from you when you tried to pet him, and sometimes seem like he meant to bite?"

" _That_ I remember. I was terrified of him at times."

"But let anyone come near you, _anything_ threaten you and that dog was there barking, with his teeth snapping. He'd have torn anyone apart who tried to harm you." The older man's laugh was gentle. "Including me when I came at you with a switch."

"I _did_ love him for that." Adam laughed and then sobered. "I know what you're saying Pa. About me and Joe."

"Son, you've got to stop blaming yourself for what happened."

Adam pursed his lips. He drew in a breath and let it out. "I don't know that I can do that, Pa."

"Adam, no matter _what_ happened to Joe, there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Your brother is headstrong. If you hadn't given Joe permission to stay in town, he would have sneaked out and gone back to that poker game anyhow if he really wanted to go."

It made sense to his head, but not to his heart.

"Put yourself in my boots, Pa. You left me in charge of not only the ranch, but of Joe. If I can handle a bronco, I should certainly be able to handle one 'headstrong' boy."

"But you don't love the bronco."

Adam fought the tears that were just under the surface. It was new to him, emotion he couldn't control.

He didn't like it.

"Pa..."

"Adam," his father began, growing deadly earnest, "there's something we need to talk about before – "

"Morning, Pa. Adam!" Hoss's jovial voice came down the stair before he did. "Seems like all of us are gonna get an early start to the mornin'. Does Hop Sing know?"

"He's in the kitchen already," Adam replied, still eying his father.

"Danged if he don't have the intuition of one of them there Swamis you see at the county fair!" As his brother drew alongside them, the big man seemed to sense something was up. "Did I come down at a bad time?"

Whatever his father had been about to say, apparently he did not want to do so in front of Hoss. "No, son. Why don't you go tell Hop Sing he can serve breakfast any time?"

"Will do, Pa." Hoss frowned as he turned toward him. "Say, Adam, didn't you sleep at all? You look like something the cat dragged in."

"Or maybe like something that black dog I had dragged in," he snorted, looking at his Pa.

"You mean Jake?"

Adam's brows flew up along with his father's. "Jake?"

"That mean-as-a-cuss black pup that nearly took my fingers off for throwin' a stick at you? How could I forget him?"

"Jake. Well."

Their pa made a small noise. "Hoss... Hop Sing?"

"Dag blame it, I plumb forgot!" his brother said with a snap of his fingers. "I'll tell him to fix breakfast and do it in a hurry, or I might just eat me a China man!"

Adam watched his brother go and then turned back to find his father still studying him.

"Pa?"

"When the day's work is done, Adam. We need to talk."

"What more is there to talk about?"

"Plenty." The older man's eyes darted to the kitchen entryway. "But not here. Not now. I'm hoping before we do that your brother wakes up. If Joe remembers something that can answer the questions we have, then we will know which direction to go. Phoebe knows to have Hop Sing send one of the hands out to find you or me if he does."

"What about Hoss?"

"No. Not Hoss. Just you or me."

"Why not?"

His father pinned him with his near-black eyes.

"Son, I think you know."

Phoebe Howath stood by the window in Joe Cartwright's room, listening to the blustery wind 'wuther' – as her Yorkshire-born father would have put it – through the tall pines outside. It was mid-afternoon and Joe's brothers and father had headed out to their various jobs. She was alone in the house with Little Joe and Hop Sing. She had gone downstairs a short time before to fix a bit of food for herself, but the Chinese man would have none of it. Hop Sing had very kindly made tea for her and fixed her a lovely plate of finger sandwiches and, when she told him that she needed to get back to Little Joe, had handed her a piece of cherry pie and told her to take it upstairs with her. Phoebe smiled.

She got the distinct impression Hop Sing thought she needed more meat on her bones.

Little Joe was sleeping and she found she was restless, so she had left her chair at his bedside to wander around the room. Shamelessly, she'd opened a few drawers and peeked into his linen press, noting the care with which he treated his every day clothes. Her only excuse was that she wanted to learn everything about him that she could so she would know how to make him love her. It was foolishness, of course. Even if Little Joe _had_ cared for her, since she had come to the Ponderosa and seen the sprawling ranch house with its fine furniture, china plates, silver, and more, she knew she would never fit in.

She was the dirt men like the Cartwrights walked on.

Phoebe stopped to look at her reflection in the mirror of Joe's dresser. Her mother would have approved of her today in her pale blue printed cotton dress, with her hair gathered into a simple bun at the nape of her neck. The last time she's seen her Ma was on the street in Virginia City when she had been bidding goodbye to one of her customers . Her mother had told her she was a 'strumpet' and that she was ashamed of her. There were other words: hooker, trollop, trull. It didn't matter. It was all the same. They all meant a woman who sold herself.

A woman who was used by men, sometimes for pleasure, but more often for the power it gave them.

Her father had another term for what she was. A 'rose with a thorn', he called the bawdy women he sometimes brought home with him, rubbing their painted beauty in her mother's face. It was a good name. Each day she continued to provide the services she did that thorn pierced her heart a little more, draining her of youth and vitality. She saw it happening every time she looked in the mirror. She had started to harden herself against the pain, and she knew that was the most dangerous thing of all.

Phoebe was just about to move over to the dresser when a small sound drew her attention to the bed. Little Joe hadn't moved, but it must have been him. Crossing back to the bed, she sat down beside him and picked up his hand. While holding it, Phoebe leaned in and brushed the curls back from his forehead and called his name.

"Little Joe? Can you hear me? It's Phoebe."

At first there was no response, then – wonder of wonders! – Little Joe moaned and his slender form shifted on the bed.

Excitement filled her. "Little Joe? If you can hear me, answer me."

Joe moaned again. He shifted as if uncomfortable and then opened his eyes. "Ma?" he asked feebly.

Suddenly Phoebe was at a loss. _Was_ there a current Mrs. Cartwright? If there was, where was she? She had no idea. "No, Little Joe. It's Phoebe."'

"Can I have...water?" he asked.

It was on the bedside table. She poured a glass full and then, slipping her arm behind him and lifting him up, held the glass to his lips and helped him drink.

"Just take a little," she warned. "You've been without it for quite a while."

When he nodded, Phoebe pulled the glass away and placed it on the table. Then she stood and went to the washstand where she wet a cloth. Returning, she wiped his face with it first and then used a clean end of it to wet his lips.

"Better?" she asked.

Joe nodded slowly. "Where...am I?"

"Home."

His eyes roamed the shadowy interior. "My room? Why are...you...in _my_ room?"

Phoebe cradled his hand in both of hers. "I came to take care of you."

"Why?" He grew agitated. "Where's...Pa? What have you...done to Pa?"

"Your father's fine, Joe. He's just out working."

Joe's breathing grew rapid. He struggled to get up. "Hoss! Adam?"

Phoebe hesitated and then, careful to avoid the bruising, took his face in her hands and made him look at her. "Joe! Everything is fine. Listen to me. _Look_ at me. It's Phoebe."

The handsome man blinked several times as if working off the lingering effects of the drug he had been given. He quieted as he recognized her. "Phoebe?"

She grinned. "Yes, Little Joe, it's Phoebe!" Fighting back tears, she added, "Don't frighten me like that."

His dark expressive eyebrows formed a 'V' as he frowned. "Sorry."

"No. _I'm_ sorry. It's all right." Looking down at the hand she held, Phoebe suddenly felt like a school girl with a crush. Releasing it, she asked him, "Now, tell me one more time. Who am I?"

A slow smile spread across Little Joe's face. It was a pale imitation of the winning smile she knew, but it was the most wonderful thing she had seen in days.

"The prettiest girl west of the Mississippi?"

Phoebe smiled too. "Welcome back," she said softly.

Little Joe's smile faded as he shifted his body in an attempt to sit up. Wincing, he asked, "Where's the wagon train that ran me over?"

"What do you remember?"

The handsome man closed his eyes as he settled back against the pillows. "I...remember riding out of town with Beck. He heard something." Little Joe's voice grew in strength as he continued. "I got off my horse to see if I could find who it was, and – " He reached for the back of his head and winced when he found the lump he was looking for. "Someone hit me!" Turning his gaze on her, Little Joe asked, "How long have I been out?"

"Almost two days."

"Two _days?_ "

"You were beaten and robbed." Phoebe paused. "You really don't remember anything else?"

Little Joe closed his eyes and concentrated for perhaps ten heartbeats. "Nope. Nothing," he said when he opened them at last.

She knew that would disappoint his brothers and father. They were _so_ hoping Little Joe could tell them something that would lead to the capture of the man who had done this to him.

Joe shifted his body again. A moment later he reached behind and pressed a hand to his lower back. "What'd they do?" he asked, his eyes going wide. "Whack me like a dirty rug?" As he returned his hand to the blanket in front of him, he noticed the rope burns on his wrists. Little Joe's green eyes flicked from the red marks to her. "Whoever it was tied me up too?"

She nodded.

"Must have been one mean cuss."

"I think that goes without saying," a gruff male voice spoke from just without the room.

Phoebe started guiltily and jumped to her feet. "Mister Cartwright. I was just going to send someone to find you. I didn't think you'd be home so soon."

Ben Cartwright held her gaze for a moment and then turned to his son. "We did an honest day's work, which is more than I can say for you, young man," he said with a smile. "What is this? Laying up here on your backside all day long when there's chores to be done."

"I'm all for not laying on my backside any longer than I have to, Pa," Joe answered, his voice finding its full strength. "My rump hurts like Hell." Little Joe stopped. His cheeks went beet red. "Pardon me, Phoebe."

She laughed. "Don't worry about me. I've heard worse." Phoebe stood and walked over to Little Joe's father. "I'll leave you two alone now." At the door she turned back with a thought. "Are you hungry, Little Joe? I could bring you something."

"Yes, Ma'am, I am," he said with a grin.

"Now I _know_ you're better," his father said, the relief he felt plain in the older man's voice.

"How about some soup?" she asked. "I think Hop Sing has a pot ready."

Little Joe nodded. "Sounds great, Phoebe. Thank you."

Before she left the room, the redhead was bold enough to touch Ben Cartwright's arm. "The worst is over," she breathed.

The older man tore his eyes away from his son to look at her. There was an odd look in his dark eyes.

"I hope so, Phoebe. I certainly hope so."

Ben Cartwright watched the girl go and then sat on the bed beside his son. Reaching out, he brushed a tumble of sodden brown curls off Joe's forehead and then cupped his son's bruised cheek with his hand.

"How are you, Joseph? Really?"

"I'm all right, Pa," Joe answered, frowning as he shifted under the covers. "I got a headache pounding harder than a man working a sledgehammer and I hurt all over, but that's nothing I haven't had before."

"Joseph..."

His son grimaced. "Okay, maybe it hurts _more_ than anything I had before, but I can stand it."

"What about _inside?_ Does anything feel 'wrong'? As bad as the attack was there might be internal injuries. Doc Martin said to ask you as soon as we could."

Joe looked puzzled. Finally, he said, "No."

"What is it, Joe? _Is_ something wrong?"

"Well, it's not inside, Pa. But I sure do feel saddle sore."

'And you have no idea why?"

Joe shook his head.

Ben did not hesitate. "Apparently whoever robbed you tied you up first and pinned you to the ground. They probably leaned a knee on your backside when they did. There are bruises on your shoulders and back, as well as lower down."

The silver-haired man watched his son process the information, looking for any sign that might indicate Joe was hedging and that his lack of memory was a false front.

He found none.

His youngest's face screwed up in confusion. "How come I don't remember what happened, Pa?"

"Doc Martin said you took quite a blow to the head. It's not that unusual. Most men don't remember the moment of injury." He paused. "What _do_ you remember about what happened before you were struck?"

Joe leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Ben could tell his son was tiring. "Not much. One minute I was walking, looking for Beck, and the next I was... Well, _here_."

Could they _be_ so fortunate?

His son opened one eye and then closed it again, slowly. "It sure is good to be home, Pa."

Ben reached out to touch his shoulder. "It's good to _have_ you home, Joseph, as well as on the road to recovery."

Joe yawned mightily. "I'm okay, Pa. Really. Don't worry...about...me..."

The older man remained still as his son fell asleep. For some time he sat there looking at him, debating what to do. He had told Adam he wanted to talk to him later because he meant to bring everything out in the open. But now, if Joe remembered _nothing_ , he wondered if that was wise. Still, at the moment Adam was bearing the burden of what 'might' have happened to his brother alone and that was more than enough to break a man. Ben Cartwright sighed. For the sake of one son, he wanted to remain quiet, but for the sake of the other, he felt compelled to speak.

At least if he told Adam his suspicions, his eldest would no longer be alone.

As he rose, the silver-haired man pulled the covers up to his youngest's chin and tucked him in. Then he headed downstairs. Supper would be ready soon.

Once it was over, he and Adam needed to talk.

Adam dropped his spoon on the table and sat back. He noted Hoss's bowl was empty, but it was the only one. His and his pa's were still half-full. They'd invited Phoebe to eat with them and she had been at the table for a bit, but then she'd excused herself to take a bowl up to Joe. Knowing his brother would need something simple, Hop Sing had made a wonderful pot of chicken noodle soup. The redhead hoped she could persuade his brother to eat again. Joe'd had a little broth so far but that was all, and he couldn't really afford to lose much weight.

He barely had enough to start with.

As the Chinese man came in to clear the table, Hoss put his napkin down and sighed. "That there was the most wonderful soup a man ever ate, Hop Sing!"

Hop Sing grinned from ear to ear. "Plenty more for Mister Hoss when he's ready for second supper."

"Second supper?" The big man frowned. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh, you mean for a midnight snack?"

"Night time, morning, only one minute apart," Hop Sing replied. As he came to him, the Chinese man scowled. "You no like your soup, Mister Adam?"

Adam patted his stomach. "I like it very much. I just don't have much of an appetite."

His father put his spoon down and pushed his own half-empty bowl away. "Me either, Hop Sing. But don't worry, I imagine we'll _all_ be down for that midnight snack."

"Not good. Cartwright men have no schedule. Men with no schedule eat whenever they want and get fat!"

Hoss took hold of his middle and shook it. "Is _that_ what happened?"

"Do you have a schedule, Hop Sing?" Adam asked, amused.

"Hop Sing have to have schedule, else he have no time to complain about Cartwrights not eating!" With that, the Chinese man headed for the kitchen taking the dishes with him and leaving behind a long line of untranslatable Asian expletives.

Hoss looked from him to Adam. "What's wrong with you two? Joe's out of danger and that was some _mighty_ fine soup!"

"I'm tired," Adam replied. "I imagine Pa is too. Neither one of us slept all that well last night."

"Ain't that too bad," Hoss said, rising. "I slept like a log."

"A log with a saw running through it," the man in black complained. "You should have heard yourself snoring."

"I don't snore!" Hoss protested. Then he added with a sheepish grin. "Leastwise I ain't never _heard_ myself snore."

"Take my word for it. It was you or a sawmill," Adam groused.

Their father stood and tossed his napkin on the table. "Well, while you two boys spar verbally, I'm going to attend to the horses." He stopped a few feet from the table and turned back. "Say, Adam, don't you need to check Sport's leg?"

That was his cue. "Yes. I'll be out shortly."

As their father left the ranch house, Hoss asked, "What's wrong with Sport?"

"He was limping a bit when I rode in tonight. Maybe he has a rock under his shoe."

"You want me to take a look?"

Adam rose as well. "No, I'll do it. I don't think it's anything bad."

"All right then." Hoss patted his clothes and dust flew into the air. "I'm gonna wash this trail dust off of me and then go sit with Joe. You come get me if you need me."

"I think that's wise," Adam said, rising as well. "Phoebe is pushing herself too hard. See if you can persuade her to get some sleep."

"That gal sure is devoted to our Little Joe." Hoss stretched and yawned. "If'n you don't need me, I'll just fall right into bed after I leave baby brother's room."

"I'll be fine. You do that. See you tomorrow, Hoss."

As his brother headed up the stairs Adam turned toward the door. His father was waiting for him in the stable, ready to talk.

But was _he?_


	4. Part Four

SEVEN

Jude Miller waited beneath a tall pine tree by the side of the road into Virginia City. Behind him stood Pointer's Arch. He opened his watch and checked the time and then quickly closed it again. Bexley was supposed to have met him here at sundown.

He was late.

The blond man removed his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and then replaced it. He had stopped at the Ponderosa on the way back to town to check on Little Joe's condition. Everyone but the cook and the woman from the saloon were gone. Phoebe Howath met him at the door and told him Joe was sleeping. They'd talked briefly about how he was doing and that had been that.

Jude sighed and looked down the road toward Virginia City. Joe, it seemed, didn't remember anything of the attack, which seemed strange.

How could a man _forget_ such a thing?

The blond man glanced at the towering structure behind him. If there _had_ been any signs of what happened to Joe here at the Arch, they'd been trampled underfoot by the traffic on the road and by the frightened teenage couple he had just scared out of the dark heart of it. Jude took the toe of his boot and turned over a clod of dirt. Then he kicked it. If, eventually, Joe didn't remember what had happened, then, in spite of what the old adage said the crime _would_ go unpunished. Even if Little Joe _did_ remember say, one, two, or three months down the road, the fever for revenge would have broken by then. There'd be an investigation, nothing would be found, and the law would give up and that would be it.

After all, the Arch was the perfect place for such an act to be committed. Once inside its black belly a man disappeared, almost as if he didn't exist.

The sound of a horse's hooves caught Jude's attention. Drawing his gun, he stepped into the shadows and waited. It only took a moment to realize that it was Bexley Lanahan come at last.

Holstering his weapon, the thin blond mad stepped into the light. "Beck. Hey!"

Bexley's horse shied and whinnied. It bucked a few times and then calmed down. "Sheesh, Jude," the brown-haired man said as he dismounted, "what're you trying to do, get me killed?"

"There's a few wouldn't be so sorry if I did," he replied with a sincere sneer.

"I _sure_ am glad you're my friend, Jude. I don't know what I'd do with you as an enemy." Bexley quickly came to his side. He looked around. "How come you wanted to meet here? Did you search the area again?"

The blond man nodded. "There's nothing."

"Hard to believe," his friend said. "I wonder if anyone will ever find out what happened to Joe?"

"Only if Joe remembers," Jude replied. "When I stopped at the ranch, I talked to Phoebe. She told me that Joe remembers being hit on the head and that's about it."

"Does the Doc think it's permanent? The memory loss, I mean?"

"No one knows. From what you said happened, there's nothing _to_ remember, right? Joe was out the whole time?"

Bexley stared at him, his brow wrinkled. "Jude, is this all you brought me out here for? To go over this one more time?"

"I wanted to make sure the Cartwrights didn't miss anything, that's all." Jude nodded in the direction of the town. "Buy you a drink for your trouble?"

Bexley nodded. "That's more like it. Let's go."

As the other man mounted Jude did the same, putting his foot in the stirrup and slinging one leg up and over his horse's back.

"I think I'll check on Joe again tomorrow and maybe I can talk to him," the blond man said as he slapped the reins against the animal's flesh. "I'd like to hear what Joe has to say for myself.

"After all, all any of us are after is the truth."

When Adam reached the stable he found his father sitting on a bale of hay, waiting for him. The older man began to rise, but Adam waved him down and took a seat beside him instead. They sat for a moment or two in silence and then he broke it.

"Pa, what is this about?"

His father leaned forward and linked his hands between his knees. "It's about your brother, Adam." The older man turned his face toward him. "I want you to tell me what you _think_ happened to Joe."

"We've been over this before. I don't know anything for certain other than what I've already told you."

"I hear you, Adam." His father straightened up. "I'm not asking what you know for _certain_. I'm asking you to tell me what you _think_."

The black-haired man rose and walked over to one of the stall walls and leaned on the top rail. "I'm not going to do that."

"Adam, stop trying to protect me."

 _That_ surprised him. "Protect you?" he asked, turning back. "What makes you think I am protecting _you?"_

His father rose and came to his side. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. "Son, this is a burden too big for one man to bear. You need to share it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Adam countered, his tone sharp. Breaking away, he added, "I'm going back to the house."

He hadn't taken five steps when his father said softly, "Adam, I know."

The black-haired man halted, his back still to his father; his lithe form rigid. "Know what?"

"I know what you think happened to Joe, or at least what you _fear_ happened to him." His father's voice shook as he concluded. "It's... It's my fear too."

Adam spun back, stunned. "How? _How_ could you know?"

The silver-haired man approached him. "I wasn't born yesterday, son. I've seen a lot of the world as it is, and much of it is brutal. It will break a man or kill him before it gives him a chance or a helping hand. First, there were your brother's injuries." The older man faltered, as if seeing them again and imagining their cause. "Then, there was you."

"Me? I said nothing."

"You didn't have to." His father lifted his hand. "It's written in your face, Adam. In the way you hold your body. And in the tears you shed."

Adam shook his head. "I was careful. I didn't say anything about what I _suspected_."

"Yes, you were. It wasn't anything you said, son. It was what you _didn't_ say."

"Good Lord, Pa! I didn't want you to have to carry this. There's no _proof._ It's bad enough I have to have the thoughts I have, but _you_ – about your _son?"_

He could see the older man struggling to control his emotions. "My feelings for my son will never change, no matter what happens to him," he said quietly.

Adam shook his head. "I didn't mean that, Pa. You have to believe me, I didn't mean _that!_ I just mean that now...every time you look at Joe, there will be – the Doc put it best – a stain on your soul."

"Like the one on yours? Or do you mean to say that darkness taints your brother now?"

Adam scowled. "What are you suggesting? That I think differently of Joe somehow because of what happened?"

"Don't you?"

"No!" He almost shouted. "I'm not putting this right. I wanted to spare you having to think..."

"Badly of Joe?" His father took a step toward him. "Adam, don't you see what you're doing? Your brother hasn't changed. He's still the same." The older man paused before going on. "You thought you were remaining quiet for him, for me, but it was _really_ for you."

"Pa. No."

His father closed the gap between them. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is your brother. We have to decide what is best for _him."_

"Decide? What is there _to_ decide?"

"When I was an Able Seaman," his father began, "an incident like this happened on the ship on which I served. It...destroyed the young man who was assaulted. _He_ knew what had happened to him. Your brother doesn't. At least not yet."

"How?" Adam asked, his voice trembling with fear for his baby brother. " _How_ did it _destroy_ him?"

"The man's hatred of himself and his fear of what men would think drove him to drink. He turned away from everyone and everything and finally, he drank enough he died." His father drew a deep breath, held it, and let it go. "So you and I, Adam, we have a _difficult_ choice to make. Do we _tell_ Joe what we know?"

"But we don't _know_ , Pa," he protested.

He had never seen his father look so sad, not even when Marie died.

"Don't we, son?"

Adam struggled against a blackness that rose in his soul, seeking to claim him. One thing their father had drilled into them was to have faith in mankind. Even though men were flawed and sinful – lazy, greedy, prideful and envious, filled with wrath and self-invested – there was still good in _every one_ of them. If you looked hard enough, you would find it.

His father had been wrong.

"Adam?"

"Why, Pa? _Why_ would we tell Joe if he doesn't remember? It will...crush him."

"Son, I know that's what you think, but there is nothing worse than active ignorance. What if Joe remembers in a week or even two, and then finds out that we _didn't_ tell him what we knew? What could he think, but that we were ashamed?" The older man's voice cracked with the strain. "Ashamed of him."

"But why hurt him if it isn't necessary? Joe may _never_ remember."

The older man shook his head. "I don't know, Adam. I really don't know the answer."

Adam nodded. "Thanks, Pa. Thanks for that."

His father went to the stable door and looked toward the house. "We don't have to make a decision tonight. Even _if_ we did decide to tell Joe what we suspect, your brother isn't strong enough yet to hear it. We'll let it go for a while. Watch him. See if... Well, if his behavior changes."

"Maybe we should talk to Doc Martin. He seemed to know a lot about it."

The older man swung around to look at him. "Paul knows?"

"He's the one who told me," he replied.

"I see. Well, if anyone has to know, I would pick Paul. He's completely trustworthy." His father hesitated and then finished. "It's Providential Paul was the one to look after Joe."

" _Providential?_ " Adam was astonished. "How can Providence have _any_ part in this?" he asked as he moved to his father's side.

The silver-haired man looked at him. The determined look in his eyes would have been enough to move a mountain. "Everything, Adam, _everything_ happens for a reason and is part of the Almighty's plan." His voice fell to a whisper. "Even this."

Adam remained silent for a moment. When he spoke, he heard the bitterness in his voice. "I don't know if I can believe in a God who could allow this, much less have it as part of His _plan_."

"Don't blaspheme, boy," his father warned.

Adam pushed past him. He halted in the yard where the brisk November wind struck him, tossing his hair and stinging his cheeks.

"Pa, you can't blaspheme if you don't believe, and right now, well, I'm not sure I _do_."

It was happening right before his eyes. Their family was being torn apart.

Ben watched his eldest boy mount his horse and ride off into the dark. Returning to the stable, he took a seat on the hay bale and remained there for some time, composing himself. Then, he went back to the house. After consulting with Hop Sing about the needs for the coming day, he looked in on Joe – only to find both his son and his caregiver fast asleep. Leaving them be, Ben went back to the living room and kindled a fire and then took a seat in the big blue chair beside it.

It was late and a chill had gripped the house nearly as cold as the one that gripped his heart.

He didn't know which son he was more worried about, Joe or Adam. If you had asked him three days before, he would have said there was nothing his eldest boy couldn't handle. Adam was the strong one, the one on which everyone else could depend – on which _he_ depended. He realized now, since that rock-steady foundation was showing cracks, just _how_ much he did. Adam was not only doubting himself, he was doubting God and that tore at a man's soul. Of course, he'd done it once too – after Elizabeth died – and it was Adam who bore the scars of his rage against the Divine. He'd found out then, as had many men before him, that anger at God was misplaced. It was really anger against self. It had taken Inger to show him that.

He wondered who would show Adam.

The silver-haired man sat a moment longer and then went to the cupboard and removed a dusty bottle of brandy. He kept it for special occasions, though they were usually happy ones like the birth of a child. It was almost as old as he was. Taking the bottle and a glass back to the blue chair, he poured a stiff drink and then sat and sipped it slowly, thinking of Joseph. It went against his instincts to keep something as monumental as this from his son. Lies and secrets were a cancer to the soul, eating away what was good and leaving only destruction in their wake. And yet, he had to consider what this would do to the boy. Joe was _so_ young. He was still learning what it was to _be_ a man. As a father, he had been working so hard to teach him, to show his youngest the right path. Joseph was a handful with his impulsive nature and, like his mother, felt things too deeply. So deeply, in fact, it left him...

Vulnerable.

Ben's knuckles went white on the stem of the brandy glass.

And someone had taken advantage of him.

The older man drew several deep calming breaths before tossing the remainder of the shot of brandy down his throat. Whoever it was, he wanted them _dead_ , but – dead or alive – would make little difference to Joe's survival.

He still had to choose.

Ben began to pour another drink and then thought better of it. He rose instead and replaced the bottle in the cupboard so the temptation was out of sight and mind. He'd need a clear head for what was to come. He'd decided to wait until Paul Martin returned to make up his mind about Joseph. He'd talk to the doctor and see if the medical man confirmed his suspicions as Adam said he would. He'd ask Paul as well if there was any sort of timeframe for the return of Joseph's memory, or if the doctor thought it would _ever_ return. As for the rest, he knew what signs to watch for. He'd been a witness to poor Thomas Slade's decline – Slade, who had once been a vital, active, and dynamic man, who had slowly disintegrated into a confused, angry, and lost soul. After that, he would be forced to make the decision whether to tell Joe or not.

It would be the hardest he would ever make.

It was late evening and Adam Cartwright was tired. He knew he had been pushing himself, but he found it hard to sit with his father and Hoss in the great room in the evenings, knowing what Pa was thinking and what Hoss _didn't_ know. It had been almost a week and so far the older man had agreed with him and decided not to tell Joe anything – at least for the time being. And since they weren't going to tell Joe, they felt that the two of them were more than enough to keep such a...secret. Hoss was going to take it hard anyhow. So hard, he wondered what it would do to the big man who, unlike him, always saw the whiskey glass half full.

So, instead of remaining with the family, he had taken the coward's way out and chosen to spend most of his days and nights on the range or in the open field, handling the tasks his father and brother had no time for. Each time he made such a request his father would give him that 'look', the one that said he knew what he was doing, but he let him go. This time he had been away for almost three days. During that time he had kept so busy that it was only late at night, after the day ended and he laid his head down to sleep, that he couldn't escape his thoughts. Sleep eluded him and the demons of all that had occurred and its possible consequences plagued him.

At times he thought he might go mad.

Tonight, before heading to the Ponderosa, he'd spent some time in town, first checking on the progress of Roy's investigation into the attack on Joe – which was nil – and then at one of the myriad saloons that dotted Virginia City's main street. He'd probably had one too many. He was stumbling tired and ready for bed and intended to stable his horse, walk into the house, and go straight up the staircase to sleep.

If there _was_ a God, _He_ had other plans.

After bedding down Sport in the stable he made a beeline for the door, but was stopped by a small voice that spoke from the shadows close by it.

"Hey, big brother."

Adam halted with his hand on the latch. He closed his eyes.

It was Joe.

"Where you been Adam? I ain't seen much of you lately."

The man in black drew a breath and turned toward his brother, who was barely visible. Joe was sitting on the porch in a chair beside the wooden table, bundled against the cold. It was true. He had been avoiding Joe, not because of what had been done _to_ his little brother, but because he was afraid he would say or do something that might act as a trigger and bring it all back. He couldn't do that to Joe.

Adam halted at the edge of the porch. "What are you doing outside?"

"There's only so much a man can take of staring at the same four walls, " Joe said, his voice quiet. "Doc Martin was here. He told Pa it was all right."

"I see. 'All right'. But is it wise?"

There was a pause. "What would you care?"

Adam frowned. He moved closer to his brother so he could see him in the light that fell from the window over their father's desk. Joe was looking away, toward the horizon and not at him.

"Joe. Why would you say such a thing?"

His brother didn't move. "Seems to me like you've been steering clear of me, Adam." There was a touch of anger in his baby brother's voice. "I haven't seen you for a week or more."

"I've been busy."

"Hoss's been busy too, but he's seen me every day. So's Pa."

"I'm sorry, Joe." And he was. "It's just – "

"Are you mad at me, Adam? For staying at the Bucket longer than I told you I would?"

He closed his eyes. _God!_ This was hard. "Joe, no. I'm not mad at you."

His brother was quiet for a moment. "Then what is it, Adam? Why don't you want to be around me?" Joe paused. "What's _wrong_ with me?"

Adam's heart sank. "Nothing, Joe. There's nothing wrong with you." Joe was still pale and wan. Though he'd recovered some, Doc Martin said he wouldn't come anything close to normal for a good many weeks. He looked like a waif, sitting there, all bundled up like a little lost boy.

Adam turned away. "It's me, Joe, not you. There's something wrong with _me."_

A silence fell between them. Into it bled the sounds of the night – cattle lowing, horses whinnying, hawks wheeling overhead.

Joe speaking.

"It's not your fault, Adam."

He glanced at him. "What?"

"What happened to me. It's not your fault. If I'd listened to you, it would never _have_ happened. It's _my_ fault, not yours."

"It's _not_ your fault, Joe. It's the fault of whoever...attacked you." In his mind's eye he continued to see it – his brother trussed, laying helpless on the ground. A man, _some monster of a_ man, assaulting him – _using_ Joe while he was unconscious for his own sick pleasure.

"Adam..."

It was there again, the pit – the emptiness. Pushing it down, denying it victory, he answered as calmly as he could. "Yes, Joe?"

"I wish I could remember."

The sentence almost broke him. "Joe," he said softly, "maybe it's better you don't."

He could see Joe's face in the light. His brother was frowning, trying to recall what Adam hoped he would _never_ recall.

"I keep trying, big brother. I think about it – think about it _hard_ – but there's just nothing there. Still..."

"Still?"

"There's...something." Joe looked at him, his eyes wide. "There's something I _need_ to remember. I _know_ it." A tremble ran the length of his brother's thin frame. Joe drew an audible breath and let it out slowly. "Jude came by today," he said, changing the subject.

"Oh?" he asked, grateful that he had. "What did he want?"

Joe shifted in the chair. "Just to see how I was. He feels bad he stayed in town and didn't travel with Beck and me. He thinks he should have done something to prevent what happened."

Adam sighed. "As human beings we do poorly at many things, but we are _very good_ at guilt."

"Do you feel guilty, Adam?"

The question hung in the air between them. He thought about denying it, but then decided there was no point. "Yes, Joe. I do."

"You shouldn't."

The man in black ran a hand across his face and turned toward his brother. "Pa left me in charge. I was responsible for you. I made a bad choice and that choice nearly got you killed."

"I'm not a kid, Adam –"

"Yes. Yes, you _are!"_ he snapped. "In spite of what you think, Joe, you're _still_ a kid and I was responsible for you and I let you down. I failed Pa. I failed the family and I _failed_ you. This...thing that happened, it's my fault, Joe. _My_ fault! Don't you understand?"

"Adam. Don't you think you done gone and said just about enough?"

He went rigid. One never realized how much they sounded like an idiot until they knew someone _else_ was listening.

"How long have you been there, Hoss?"

Hoss stood in the light cast by the open door. The look on his face said more than he did. "Long enough."

"It's okay, Hoss," Joe began.

"No, it ain't, Joe." The big man came to stand between them. "I've had just about enough of you, big brother. Whatever burr you got under your saddle, you need to pull it out."

"You've got no right, Hoss –" Adam snapped.

"I got _every_ right. You just leave Joe alone." Hoss' eyes shone in the light, fiery as the flame that created it. "You ain't been a part of this family for near-on a week now, and when you do come home, it still _ain't_ to be a part of it. I'm tired of you thinking only of yourself, Adam."

"Thinking of myself?" He was astonished. "I'm not thinking of myself. I'm – "

"You sure as shootin' are! Ain't nothin' else you've thought of since we brought Joe home. Now, I know you feel responsible, and maybe in a way you are, but it ain't right to treat Joe – and Pa like you're treatin' them."

Adam scowled. "How am I treating them?"

"Like they got a disease. It ain't much better with me." Hoss waited until he met his angry gaze. "What in all that's holy is wrong with you?"

Adam froze. He shook his head. "In all that's 'holy'," he scoffed. "What if I told you I don't think there is anything that's 'holy'? What if I told you that I think you live and you work and you sweat and you bleed and then you die and there's nothing more?"

"Adam, you don't believe that," his brother said softly.

Adam glanced at Joe and then back to his middle brother, his jaw set in defiance.

"Don't I?"

Adam stormed off into the dark. Hoss watched him go and then looked at his younger brother. Joe hadn't sparred with Adam like he had, but it looked like the argument between them had taken as much out of his baby brother as it had out of him.

Taking a seat on the wooden table next to Joe he said, "Sorry, little brother. I guess I lost my temper."

For a second Joe said nothing. Then, "What do you think's wrong with Adam?"

"I don't rightly know. But you know how Adam is, everything gets bottled up inside and he's too dag-blamed 'civilized' to let it out like you and I do by blowin' off some steam."

Joe had his chin on his hand and was staring off in the direction their elder brother had gone. "I don't think Adam likes me anymore."

"Now, Joe, don't you go sayin' such a darned stupid thing! _Sure_ he does. Don't you ever think otherwise. Whatever's eatin' at Adam ain't got nothin' to do with you."

Joe's head shook. "You're wrong, Hoss. It does."

He couldn't see his little brother's expression, but the pain was there in his voice. "You go ahead then, and tell me how it does."

His brother turned toward him. There were unspent tears in his eyes. "I can't. I just know it does."

"Now, Joe, don't you go upsetting yourself. It ain't good for you. You need to rest and – " He stopped.

"What is it, Hoss?" Joe asked.

"Don't you hear it, Joe? Someone's comin'." The big man crossed to the door and called out. "Pa, we got company!"

His father appeared in the door momentarily. "Who is it, Hoss?"

"I don't rightly know yet."

The silver-haired man crossed to where Joe was. "I was just about to come out for you, son. You've been up long enough. It's time you got to bed."

"Ah, Pa, do I have too?" His little brother whined. "I've been in that gosh-darned bed so long I think I might go crazy."

A slender female form appeared at their father's side. "Doctor's orders," Phoebe said.

It had been nice having a woman around the house. It sort of softened everything up. They'd thought Phoebe might be leaving them soon since Joe was getting better, but Doc Martin told Pa that morning that he thought it was good thing she stay a while longer. The Doc said she had a 'good' effect on Joe. Hoss smiled as he watched the redhead cross over to his little brother and hold out her hand. Phoebe definitely had an _effect_ on Joe. His little brother pulled himself together and the woeful look he'd had on his face vanished to be replaced with more than a shadow of his usual smile. Joe accepted her hand and let her help him to his feet, and then leaned on the redhead as they slowly made their way into the house.

Just inside the door Joe stopped and looked back. "Can I sit on the settee for a while, Pa?"

The older man mulled it over. "For a bit, Joe, but not too long."

His brother grinned. "Thanks, Pa."

As Phoebe and Joe entered the house the sound he had heard defined itself. Two riders appeared at the edge of the yard.

One of them was Roy Coffee.

Hoss saw his father glance in the direction Joe had gone and then back to Roy. The silver-haired man drew a deep breath, as if steeling himself, and stepped off the porch. As he did, he turned back and said, "Hoss, see that your brother gets settled comfortably inside and then come back out."

"Yes, sir."

It took him about three minutes. When the big man emerged from the house he found his father deep in a discussion with Roy and the other rider, who was one of his deputies.

"Hoss," the sheriff said, acknowledging him.

"Roy," he replied, doing the same. "What's this all about, Roy?"

"Roy wants to talk to your brother."

"Joe?" When his father nodded, he asked, "What about?"

"There's been another attack, Hoss, like Joe's," Roy said.

His father's face was grim. "The young man is dead."

"Dead?" The pain he felt was selfish, even though it was felt for the family of the other man. What if _they_ had lost Joe? "How'd he die, Roy?"

There was something in the way the sheriff answered. He was holding something back. "I can't rightly say, Hoss, not 'til I speak with the family. But I _can_ tell you he was tied up and then beaten and robbed, and his clothes were missing just like your brother's."

"Do you think it's the same man that done it?"

The sheriff nodded. "Now, Ben, about what I asked?"

Hoss glanced at his father. The older man wasn't looking at the lawman, he was staring at the house, a distant look in his eyes.

"It won't do you any good to talk to Joe," he said. "The boy doesn't remember anything."

"Now, Ben, you let me decide that."

His father pivoted on his heel. "No!" he snapped. "I won't give my permission."

"Ben, you listen to me, this here is an official investigation. If you don't let me talk to Joe, you'll be obstructing the law. I can throw you in jail for that." Roy Coffee paused. His voice grew gentle. "Ben, I ain't gonna upset the boy, I just want to ask him a few questions. If this here is the same man then we got us a repeater, and who knows what other man's son is gonna die because you wouldn't let me talk to yours!"

"Pa," Hoss said, "Roy's right. We got Joe. He's safe. This man's family, well, they lost the one they loved. We don't want that to happen to anyone else, do we?"

His father remained silent for several heartbeats. "No," he sighed. "No, I don't want that." Turning to the lawman the older man said, "All right, but only for a few minutes, and if Joe gets too upset I will put a stop to it. Do you understand that, Roy?"

Sheriff Coffee held up his hands in surrender. "That's all I'm askin', Ben. I don't want to hurt the boy any more than he's already been hurt."

Hoss heard something in the lawman's voice. When he turned to his pa, he saw it echoed in the older man's eyes.

As he followed the two men into the house he couldn't help but wonder what it was.

EIGHT

Ben found his youngest situated on the settee. Phoebe had propped Joe's feet up and tucked several blankets around him and then positioned herself in the chair beside him. She really was a remarkable young lady and quite devoted to Joe. It was easy for him to see that she was in love with his son, though Joe seemed oblivious to it. Of course, at the moment, his son's energies were concentrated on recovery, so it was just as well. One of these days, though, there could be a sudden change and he would have to keep a watch out for that as well. While he had nothing against Phoebe, it would be hard to tell if his son's feelings for her – should Joe came to have them – were real, or if it was a deep gratitude instead of love.

"Joseph?" he said

"Yeah, Pa?" Joe asked. When he noted the lawman following in his wake, he added, "Hey, Sheriff Roy. What brings you out here?"

"Roy would like to ask you a few questions, Joseph. About the attack." Ben frowned. Joe looked exhausted. "Are you up to it? If not, we can postpone – "

"I'm fine, Pa."

"You are far from 'fine', son. But if you feel up to it..."

Joe shifted and sat up straighter. He looked at Roy. "Ask away."

"Joe, I know you say you don't remember anything about what happened the other night, but I'd like to go over it all again, if you've got the strength."

"Sure. Does this have to do with you trying to catch whoever robbed me?"

Ben beat the other man to it. "Joe, there's been another attack. Just like yours."

The color drained from his son's face. "Someone...else?"

"A young man, about your age." He and Roy had agreed they would not tell Joe the young man had died, at least not right away. "He was beaten and robbed just the same as you."

"We're thinkin', Joe, that we got ourselves a repeat offender, so's it's even more important now that you try to remember what happened to you." The sheriff paused. "Joe?"

His son had been staring. He started at his name. "How is he? The man who got attacked?" Joe asked quietly.

Roy pursed his lips. "I cain't rightly say. His family don't know about it yet. I'll let you know when I can."

Joe frowned but seemed to accept that.

"Now, tell me what _you_ remember."

Ben noticed, as Joe began to speak, that Phoebe's hand went to his son's arm and rested on it, lending him her strength. "Adam and me, we went into town after work. I wanted to stay for a poker game and, well, I talked Adam into leaving me behind. I didn't have a very good run. I ran out of money about midnight and since Beck was heading out, we decided to ride home together." His son paused. "I think Beck was looking out for me. I'd had a little too much to drink," he added with chagrin.

"You two took off at the same time? Was anyone else around?"

Joe frowned. "I didn't see anyone close, but it was dark. There were some people out front of the hotel, and wagons coming and going – just a normal night, you know?"

"Okay," Roy said. "Go on."

"We were about three miles outside of town when Beck heard something. You know, by Pointer's Arch? He told me about it and we decided to stop in case it was someone laying in wait." His son fell momentarily silent. Of course, there _had_ been someone laying in wait. "We split up, Beck going one way and me going the other. I lost sight of him just about the time I got to the Arch..." The boy's voice trailed off and he shuddered.

"Joe, if you need to stop..." Ben suggested.

His youngest's eyes sought his. They said that he _needed_ to go on. "I'm all right, Pa."

"You said you split up?" the sheriff prompted.

"I came in from the back where it's the darkest. I couldn't see much, not even with the moon. You know how it is, Roy, when you get under the rocks?"

The sheriff nodded. "And that's when it happened?"

Joe's jaw tightened. He nodded too.

"Son, this is _where_ it is important for you to remember."

Joe grew agitated. "But, I don't! I don't remember _seeing_ anything _._ I've closed my eyes and tried to put myself back there so many times, but there's nothing!" His son's gaze flew to him. "Pa, _why_ is there nothing?"

"Roy, I think we better put a stop to this," the silver-haired man said.

The gaze that met his was not the gaze of a lawman, but of a man who was also a father. "I know how hard this is, Ben. Just a couple more questions? All right?"

He looked at Joe. His son was pale and shaking. "I don't know..."

"Pa. I want to."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Pa, I'm _sure_."

"All right, Joe," Roy said. "Now listen to me. I want you to stop tryin' to remember what you _seen._ Think about the things you _didn't_ see – did you smell anything? Was there something you heard?" He paused. "Did the man who attacked you _say_ anything?"

Joe went deathly still. All of the color drained from his face.

"Yes."

"Joe!" Ben sat on the table before the settee near his boy. "You never mentioned this before."

Joe's green eyes met his. He swallowed. "I didn't remember it before," he said, his voice trembling.

"I know this is going to be hard son," Roy said, trying to mask his excitement. "But can you tell me what the man said?"

The room was quiet. Hoss, who had remained by the door listening, moved to stand near his brother. Phoebe's fingers were white on Joe's sleeve.

"I asked him who he was," Joe said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"What did he say? Did he tell you?"

Joe shook his head 'no'. "He said, 'Who do you think?'

Ben's heart was racing. Joe was recalling something he had not recalled before. Did that mean his son would soon recall _everything?_

Roy nodded. "Did you ask him anything else, boy?"

"Yeah. I asked him what he wanted and he told me." Joe looked confused.

"What was that, Joe?" his father asked softly. "What did he say he wanted?"

His son lifted his head and met his concerned stare. Pain and fear and something else were mingled in Joseph's eyes.

"I didn't understand it then, Pa. I still don't." Joe hesitated. "He said he wanted _me_."

Adam didn't go home that night. He'd walked a short ways into the trees after crossing swords with Hoss and then returned to the stable, intending to claim his horse and take off again, thinking maybe he would go back to the Arch like he had a dozen times before and see if he could figure anything out. While he was saddling his horse he'd heard several men talking and then it grew quiet. As the front door closed, he took Sport out and rode off into the night. In the end he didn't go to the Arch. Instead something drew him to the prime piece of land with the ramshackle cottage on it that Joe loved and had coerced their father into giving him. Joe'd brought Hoss and him up here shortly afterward, busting with pride, and told them all about his plans and dreams for a wife and a home.

It was funny how his little brother was always thinking about something that he, as the eldest, seldom thought about – having his own family. Sometimes he thought it had to do with losing his o _wn_ mother at such a young age. There had been the loss of Elizabeth's loving presence and a boy's hurt that kept him from trusting such a love again, but also, it was just him and his pa and that seemed enough.

It still did, only now it was just him.

Adam sat on the stoop of the small broken-down cottage. The boards were uneven and some of them rotted. If Joe did come to this place with a wife, it was going to take a lot of work to make it livable. But from where he was sitting the view was spectacular and he completely understood what had drawn his brother to it. It was peaceful too. That was why, in the end, he had come here – to find peace. He hadn't, of course. How could he?

He'd brought his own turmoil with him.

The man in black closed his eyes and lowered his head into his hands. This was not like him, losing his way, living on the raw edge of emotion and turning away from the ones he loved. A part of it was a genuine fear of being around Joe and letting something slip, of planting a suggestion in his brother's mind that, once considered, could never be dismissed. But that wasn't the most of it. It went deeper.

He'd lost his faith in _life_ as well as in God.

Adam rose and began to pace. The line from William Shakespeare's Macbeth kept haunting him. The Bard had his main character – a man wracked with guilt and poisoned by shame – say of life that it was 'a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.'

Nothing.

Was it all _really_ 'nothing?' Did a man live all of his days just so he could be beaten and whipped and kicked and taken down? Did he have hopes – Adam turned to look at the structure behind him – hopes like his little brother had for a future and yet, they were 'nothing'? Was it foolish to love, to hope, to believe, when the world didn't care, when all it wanted to do was to strike a man into the ground like a sledgehammer dropped on the head of a post, pounding, pounding, _pounding_ until he was beaten and buried?

The vision of his brother, trussed, brutalized, _more_ , flashed before his eyes.

 _God!_ It was a physical pain, what had happened to Joe.

What was happening to _him_.

Since he had been a little boy, his pa had taken him to church. Even when his father grew hard after his mother's death and was angry with God, still they had gone to hear the Lord's Word. His father had never doubted – didn't doubt _now_ after what had happened to Joe. How, he wondered, _how?_ How could a man believe in a Providential God that would allow such a thing to happen to a _boy_ – a thing that might change his life forever or, worse yet, change _him_. And why? _Could_ there be a reason? Could there be any _good_ in this?

And if God allowed it, then could there be any good in _God?_

Adam sighed and then he laughed bitterly. It was like the foundation of a house, his faith in God. He didn't think much about it. Who did? You laid a foundation and then covered it up with all the things – the boards and bricks, the plaster and paint – that made it a house and a home. He didn't inspect it and work to improve it every day either like the Good Book said he should. As an architect he should have known, should have remembered.

Without a firm foundation everything is lost.

 _Now_ , what was he supposed to do?

Adam returned to the cabin. He opened the door and went in. For a few minutes he walked around and then settled on the stone hearth. Through an open window he could see the sky and the myriad stars sparkling there. A thought struck him as he did, that though the sky was bleak, the stars were brilliant. It reminded him of a story Inger had told him when he'd been a little boy when, for a brief moment, the beautiful fair-haired woman had been his second mother. Inger's smile was like those stars, dazzling and bright. Her death, like the bleak black sky.

One night, when his pa had been away with the other men on the wagon train, he'd awakened her with screams in the night. Inger had come to him and held him and told him there was nothing to fear from the dark; that it was only masking the light and the light had not gone away. Then, in her lilting Swedish voice, she told him a story. There was a woman who was imprisoned. Where she was it was silent and dark and without light, so black was all she could see. Every day she prayed that she would be freed from it and she grew angry with God when He did not answer her prayers. She shouted at Him and cursed Him saying He was cruel, and that somehow, someday she _would_ be free of the four walls that held her captive whether He willed it or not. Then, one day, the woman heard a sound. It was small and quiet. She listened and followed it and found the walls were only in her mind. It had been the song of a bird.

And she had always been outside.

Adam looked up with tears in his eyes at the hope his little brother had and was humbled. Shifting, he fell to his knees.

"God," he said as the tears fell, "God, _please_ help me."

Hoss awakened halfway through the night and was unable to return to sleep. He'd wandered the house for a while, made a snack of three-quarters of a chicken that Hop Sing had on ice, and then headed for the stable to be with the animals he loved. There was something about God's living creatures that soothed him even as he sought to soothe them. He'd loved Nature and everything about her for as long as he could remember and when he was troubled, he often went out to visit with her where he could breathe and think.

There was something wrong. Sometimes it seemed to him that everyone else knew what it was, but then he'd look and listen to Joe and he didn't think his little brother was keeping any secrets.

He weren't so sure about Adam and his Pa.

The thing was, he loved both men and he trusted them, so if they was keeping a secret there was bound to be a sure-fire, solid-as-a-rock reason for it. He'd sensed tonight while standing by the door, listening to Roy Coffee question Little Joe, that whatever it was his pa and Adam were doing, they was doing it to protect Joe. He saw it in his pa's eyes when the older man looked at his youngest son, and in Adam's when he looked away.

When he opened the door to the stable, he'd found Adam's horse gone. He realized his brother must have come back either before Roy and his deputy arrived or after, and headed out alone. Adam was a thinking man and most of the time he had to do it by himself. Joe was always joshing, sometimes with a downright mean edge, about Adam being a Northerner, meaning big brother never showed his emotions and was hard as the boulders the waves dashed themselves against. Hoss remembered Adam as he grew up, after his own mother had died. His older brother had suffered an awful lot of loss for a little feller and it seemed to him that he had made a choice, in so many words, to reach up and turn off the tap of emotion in order to survive.

If the truth were known – and Joe'd never believe it – he thought Adam's feelings ran deeper than either of theirs. It was the reason big brother had to deny them.

A man just couldn't live on the edge all the time.

After he'd found Adam gone, Hoss returned to the house. Sitting in one of the chairs by the fire he'd picked up one of Adam's books and started to read, only to be stopped when his father appeared at the head of the stairs dressed for the day. He couldn't sleep neither. His pa said he was going to take a ride around the ranch and would be back for breakfast, which was about two hours from now.

Hoss picked up the slim volume of Adam's he'd been looking at and read a few more lines. Then he put it down. Reading one of his older brother's books always gave him a headache. Adam had a mind that liked big ideas and deep thoughts – _so_ deep a man could puzzle over them for days and find nary a conclusion. He liked books, but he enjoyed the ones with exciting stories, filled with adventure and tales of the land he loved. Putting Adam's volume down Hoss rose and headed for the stair. Come to think of it, there was some of those books in his Pa's room. Since Pa was out, it wouldn't disturb him if he borrowed one.

At the top of the stairs Hoss halted. Phoebe was standing in the hall near Joe's door with her hand on the knob. For some reason she hesitated to enter. She turned a stricken face toward him when she heard his footsteps.

"What is it, Miss Phoebe?" he asked as he hurried to her side.

"Listen."

He pressed his ear to the door.

Joe was crying.

"I didn't want to go in, even though I did _want_ to," she breathed. "I've been around men enough that I know they don't want anyone to see them cry. I...I didn't want to shame Little Joe."

Hoss straightened up. "That was right thoughtful of you," he said. "I'll take care of him. You go back to your room and try to get some sleep."

"Little Joe's lucky, you know, to have a brother like you. To have the family he has."

There was something odd in her voice, but he didn't have time for it now. "Thank you, Miss Phoebe. Now, I gotta get to my brother."

Turning away from her, Hoss put his hand to the knob and slowly pushed the door in. The room was dark. The curtains had been drawn so even the light of the stars was put out. "Joe," he called softly as he entered the nest of shadows. "Little Joe?" When he got no answer, the big man moved into the room and crossed to the bed expecting to find his brother sitting on the side of it, or maybe curled up in a ball on its top.

Joe was under the covers. He was asleep.

Joe was crying _in_ his sleep.

As gently as he could the big man sat down on the bed beside his little brother. It near broke his heart to hear Joe whimper like a child. This has been what their pa was afraid of when he let Roy Coffee question Joe – that it would bring it all back. Still, even though he knew Joe was weak from the attack, and even though his little brother cried about the easiest of any man he knew, there was something in this cry that was like a church bell rung in a town where the pastor knew no one would come to services.

It was hollow and heartrending.

Hoss lifted a hand to wake Joe, but as he did his brother began to talk. Feeling like the lowest of the low, he pulled back and listened, hoping to hear something that would make him understand.

"Who... What do you want?" Joe murmured, the words coming from a world of dream and only half-intelligible to those who did not inhabit it. "What...do you mean? Me? What?" Joe began to pitch from side to side. Without warning his hands shot out, crossing before his face in an attempt to ward something off. "No! Don't... _Don't_ tie me up!"

Joe's body followed his hands. He sat up abruptly, panting hard, the tears flowing down his cheeks. His eyes remained closed.

Joe was _still_ asleep.

His little brother remained silent, then he twisted violently, like a man evading a blow. "God, no," he moaned, "God. No. _No!_ _Don't touch me!"_ "

Hoss had had all he could take. He gripped Joe firmly by both arms. "Joe, wake up! Joe!"

His brother shrieked.

The big man didn't know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of. He gathered Joe in his arms and held him tight, letting him struggle, taking the blows, and all the while telling him that he was safe. _He_ was here.

He was _home._

A minute, maybe two later his brother quieted. It took a while but the sobs that wracked Joe's slender form turned to gasps and then to ragged breaths until at last he was breathing normally. Finally his little brother looked up, all red-eyed and snot-nosed.

"Hey," Joe said, his voice trembling.

"Hey there, boy. You done frightened me right out of my skin." Hoss began to pull away, but Joe had hold of his arm and did not let go. "You okay?"

His brother frowned. He opened and closed his eyes several times. "It's fading, Hoss."

"What's fadin'?"

"Hoss, I saw... No, I felt... _No."_ Joe's small form went rigid. "No."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Joe wiped the snot from his upper li[ with the back of his hand and the tears from it with the sleeve of his night robe. "It was just a dream," he said.

"That were more than a dream, Joe, you was _plumb_ terrified."

"So, I had a nightmare!" Joe barked, his quick temper igniting. "Can't a man have a night terror without someone thinking he's a little kid!"

"Joe, I didn't say you was a kid."

"But you were _thinking_ it!" Joe shoved him away. "Get out! Leave me alone!"

Hoss stood at the side of the bed. "Joe, what's wrong?"

"There ain't nothing wrong! It's three o-'clock in the morning and I want to get some sleep. How can I do that with a big _lump_ like you standing there asking me questions?"

"Now, Joe, you was crying and I – "

"I _wasn't_ crying! _You_ were hearing things. Maybe it's _you_ who were dreaming!" Joe countered testily even as another tear rolled down his face.

Hoss held up a hand. "Okay, Joe, I'm leavin'. Just so you're all – "

His brother turned away from him and slammed his body back into the bed. He heard him stifle a cry of pain and then Joe said, "I'm fine. I just need some sleep." There was a pause and then quieter, with a plea, his baby brother added, "Please, Hoss, just go away."

When he closed the door behind him and turned around, Hoss found his father standing in the hall. The older man had been there, he knew not how long, listening. The silver-haired man's expression was one of pain and purpose.

"How's Joe?" he asked as he inclined his head toward the room.

Hoss was honest. "I'm not sure, Pa. Somethin's _sure_ eatin' at him. You think it had to do with that talk with Roy?"

It took the him a moment. "Yes, son, I'm certain it did."

The big man glanced at the door. "You gonna go in and talk to him?"

His father shook his head. "No. I imagine Joe wants to be alone. I'll check in on him later."

"Pa, you know I trust you – and I trust Adam," he said with a sigh. "But I sure wish you would let me in on whatever in _Tarnation_ is goin' on."

The older man sighed. "I've wanted to, son. It wouldn't _ever_ be my choice to leave one of my sons in the dark." Again, his eyes shot to the door to Joe's room. "I made a decision, thinking it was protecting you _and_ Joe. I was wrong. You need to know what Adam and I know." He paused and amended it. "What we _think_ we know. Though, after tonight – after this – I am fairly certain we're right."

"How much did you hear, Pa?"

"Almost all of it."

Hoss considered how painful that must have been for their father. "What is it you gotta tell me?"

The silver-haired man's face was grave as a shroud.

"Let's go downstairs where we can talk."

Hoss sat in one of the red chairs that butted up against the hearth, his head down, his hands folded on his knees. His middle son had been staring at the fire since he finished talking. Hoss' expression was hard to read. There was pain – and worry – there, but more than anything else Ben saw anger.

A deep, simmering, slow-burning, bound-to-be-explosive-when-it-boiled-over anger.

"Son, what are you thinking?"

The big man remained silent for a moment. One hand opened and closed slowly, forming a white-knuckled fist. "Pa, I ain't got _words_ for what I'm thinkin," Hoss said, his voice quiet. "You know how it is with me and Little Joe."

Yes, he knew. Ben had often heard Hoss refer to his brother as 'my' Little Joe. Well, someone had done something unspeakable to _his_ Little Joe and the silver-haired man knew what that meant.

Hoss was ready to kill.

"I understand how angry you are – "

His son looked at him. "No, Pa. I don't rightly think you do."

"Your love of your baby brother runs deep as the roots of a Ponderosa pines, I know _that_."

"It runs deeper, Pa. Deeper than that. So _deep_ there ain't no end to it, not even when you come out of the other side of the world."

Ben kept his voice even, logical, and spoke as much to himself as he did to Hoss. "I understand that, son, but even if we knew who this man was – and _if_ it was proven that he did what Adam and I think he _might_ have done – that would still be no excuse for you or any one of us, much as we might want to, to take the law into our own hands."

"Well, if it ain't, Pa, it _oughta_ be," Hoss said, his anger reaching a medium burn. "If'n I found myself that coward I'd _tear_ him in two with my bare hands."

"And go to jail. How would that benefit your brother?"

"But, Pa," Hoss protested, looking up. "Joe. This is _Joe."_

Ben remained standing for a moment and then dropped wearily onto the settee beside his son. Yes, it was Joe, and he wanted nothing more than to do the same thing – to find the man who did this alone somewhere and deliver to him the vengeance of God _and_ the law. But he was neither.

He was neither God _nor_ the law.

"Son, we...have to let _Roy_ find this man and arrest him. You can't do it, neither can Adam or I. We are too close, too _involved_." Ben drew a steadying breath. "Too filled with _rage_. And then, once he _is_ found, we have to let the law punish him. Otherwise, we are no better than he is. We are just a different _kind_ of savage."

As his temper boiled over, Hoss grew agitated. He leapt from his seat and began to pace. "Pa, whoever done this ain't a savage, he's just plain _evil._ Savages don't know any better. You can't go tellin' me that this man didn't know what he was doin'!"

Ben's jaw tightened. "No. He knew what he was doing. That still doesn't give us a right to take matters into our own hands."

" _But, Pa!"_

"To me belongeth vengeance and recompense," he quoted the Bible as he rose. "'Their foot shall slide in due time for the day of their calamity _is_ at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste." The words from Deuteronomy hung in the air between them, challenging _both_ of them to do just that – leave revenge and repayment in God's hands.

Hoss looked like a balloon that had had the air let out. He scuffed the floor with his boot, like he had done as a little boy, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"It just don't seem right, Pa."

Ben ran a hand over his face. "There is nothing _right_ about any of this, Hoss. The attack. The possibility of what its consequences could do to Joseph. Your brother Adam..." Ben paused. "Your older brother separating himself from the family."

"That's one you don't need to worry about any more, Pa," a fresh voice spoke from the open door.

The silver-haired man knew it. "Adam!" he exclaimed as he turned toward the sound.

His eldest looked sheepish. "Yeah, it's me, Pa," he said quietly, "back from the edge."

Ben crossed over to him quickly. "Are you all right, son?"

Adam drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No. I'm not all right. But you know what, Pa? _That's_ all right. I want to apologize to you, and to you too Hoss." Adam looked at his brother and then came back to him. "I thought I was thinking about everyone else, trying to _protect_ everyone else, but you were right, the one I was protecting was myself." His son hesitated. "I'm sorry I let all of you down."

"It's okay, Adam," his middle son said.

His eldest cast a glance at Hoss. "You told him?"

Ben nodded. "After what happened with Joe tonight I felt I had to."

Adam frowned, alert and on edge. " _What_ happened?"

"Roy Coffee done come out to talk to little brother, Adam," Hoss told him.

"And?"

Ben Cartwright drew a deep breath as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"You're brother is beginning to remember


	5. Part Five

NINE

"Mr. Cartwright?"

Ben Cartwright stirred and looked up from the bill of sale he had read at least a half dozen times. It was about an hour before supper. Adam and Hoss were still on the range. He had come home early troubled by the brief conversation he had had with his youngest son that morning. When he had gone up to talk to Joe, the boy had been so much on edge that he had only asked him one or two questions and then left. He'd met Phoebe in the hall and she said she would look after him. Tonight, when he returned, Joe was asleep and Phoebe was in her room, so he had come downstairs to catch up on paper work.

It was Phoebe who'd called him. The redhead stood with her hand on the lower newel post. She hesitated on the steps as if awaiting his permission to descend into the Great Room.

Ben put the paper down on the table before him. "Phoebe, please. Join me." As the young woman responded, he asked, "Would you like me to have Hop Sing fix you some tea, or maybe something to eat?"

She shook her head. "Though it's most kind of you to ask."

Phoebe Howath was dressed today in a gown cut from a lovely pale blue fabric with a deeper blue pattern worked over it. She had her hair in a ponytail. Golden-red curls cascaded from the ribbon that held it in place. As she took a seat opposite him on the settee, she spread her skirts wide. Then, as though nervous, her fingers began to pick at the folds of cloth and to arrange them in a pattern.

When she said nothing, Ben asked, "Is there something _else_ I can do for you?"

The redhead straightened one more fold, pressing it on top of another, and then looked up. "I'd like to talk to you about Little Joe. I know it's presumptuous – "

He cut her off. "Nonsense. Your presence at the Ponderosa has been the one ray of light in this dark matter. May I ask? Are you planning on leaving us?"

Phoebe blinked. "Do you want me to?"

"No. But Joe is mending and I thought perhaps you had come to tell me you would like to get back to your own life."

Her face pinched. "That's part of why I wanted to talk to you." The young woman drew a deep, long breath. "Mr. Cartwright –"

"Ben , please."

"Ben. What do you think of me?"

He shrugged. "You're a beautiful compassionate young woman who has freely given of her time and talents to take care of my son. What do you _think_ I think of you?"

Phoebe knitted her fingers together on top of her blue skirt. "You know what I am."

"I just said what you are."

Her mouth drew into a line. "You do know what I _do_ for a living. Don't you?"

He considered being vague, working his way around it and so on, but in the end decided to be honest. "Yes, I know what you do."

" _Upstairs_ as well as downstairs at the Bucket?"

"Yes. Phoebe, what _is_ this?"

The young woman rose and walked to the hearth where she stood looking at the fire. "I was very young when I began to work at the saloon. Just over sixteen. At first I ran errands and helped with the upkeep. Sometimes I would deliver drinks to the tables." She looked back at him. "That all changed when I became nineteen. That's when I began to... _pleasure_ men."

Why was she telling him this?

"Go on," Ben said.

"It's been two years and, in that time, I have known many terrible things...have _seen_ many terrible things. A girl like me, there's no right to say 'no' to anything a man wants." She glanced at him from under lidded eyes. "It didn't seem so bad at the Bucket since, well, I'd been in the same position before. There was a man back where I came from – a _rich_ man. I worked for him and he took a liking to me. At first, the attention was flattering but then, as the days went on and he grew more and more demanding, I began to be frightened of him. I ran, but only after he struck me and told me that was my one 'warning'."

"You were beaten?"

She looked up. "Yes. When I recovered, I told him I never wanted to see him again. When he didn't listen, I ran. He followed me from town to town and finally caught me." Phoebe wrapped her arms around her chest. Her voice grew still. "This time he did more than _beat_ me."

The fire behind her cracked, the sound startling in the silence that followed her last statement. Ben was at a loss for words.

Phoebe crossed over to him and took a seat on the table in front of the settee. "It's _that_ I wanted to talk to you about."

"I thought you wanted to talk about Joe."

"Mister Cartwright, I know this is going to be hard to hear, but I know what happened to Joe." When he started, she added, "I've seen it before."

"Seen it?"

"And _experienced_ it as I said. That man, the rich one who couldn't get me to give him what he wanted?" Phoebe looked down. "He _took_ it by force. He beat me and had his way with me and left me for dead."

"Good Lord!" Ben sighed.

"So, you see. I know what happened to Joe." The redhead paused. "And I know what it will do to him if he remembers, because I know what it did to me."

The older man sank back in his chair. "And what did it do to you?"

The redhead's fingers returned to working the fabric of her dress. Again, she didn't look at him. Ben noticed, as she recalled her terrible journey, that Phoebe's body language changed – she seemed to wither.

"At first I just couldn't believe it happened. There had been other men, some of them cruel, but this was...different. I couldn't talk about it, even to the other girls. I tried to go on normally, but then," her eyes flicked to his face, 'then I began to have nightmares and as I relived what happened, I began to blame myself. I shouldn't have looked so pretty that night. I should have been able to get away. Everything became my fault and not _his_ and that made me sad and then guilty. I felt helpless, powerless, and _that_ made me angry, and since there was no one to be angry with other than myself, I fell into a very dark place."

Ben had his elbow on the chair arm. His chin was on his hand. He looked over his fingers at her. "Why are you telling me this?"

Phoebe moved to sit beside him on the settee. "Ben, what happened to Joe had _nothing_ to do with pleasure. It was about power and control. The man who did this wants to _own_ Joe, just like the man who took advantage of me wants to _own_ me." She paused. "I am telling you this for two reasons. First of all, the man who assaulted me is still making threats. He intends to finish what he began."

"And you're worried it might be the same with Joseph."

"Yes."

"You said _two_ reasons."

"Ben, you have no reason to trust me. I'm practically a stranger. But, well, I think I can help Little Joe." She hesitated, as if unsure of her words. "Maybe _I_ can help him when none of you can. Partly because I _am_ a stranger, but mostly because I have felt everything he is feeling."

"And because you are a woman. That's why Paul wanted you here."

Her smile was wan. "That too."

Ben sighed again. "I know, Joe. It won't be easy to get him to take help from anyone."

"That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about too. If Little Joe thinks I am here just for him, he'll turn me away. I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Maybe you could hire me, temporarily? To help in the kitchen or some such thing? That way I could remain, but Joe wouldn't think it was for him."

He nodded. "There's a cattle drive coming up and I was going to send Hop Sing with the men."

The young woman struggled to hide her surprise. "You're thinking of it?"

The older man straightened up. He took her by the hand. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because of what I _am!"_ she blurted out. The redhead looked down. "I'm unclean, Ben. I don't deserve to be around your son. I just hoped... Well, maybe I could help."

Ben took a finger and raised her chin. "That's not what you are."

She sniffed and a tear trailed down her cheek. "No?"

"No. Let me tell you what you are, Phoebe Howath. You are a beautiful and intelligent young woman who has had more thrown at her than most and you have survived." When she started to protest, he said, "You listen to me, you are not a victim – you are a _survivor_."

Ben smiled.

"And the perfect teacher for my son."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe wasn't supposed to be up and out of bed, but he was. He'd actually thought of locking the door to his room to keep everyone out but decided against it, as he knew it would only make his father and brothers all the more determined to come in and that was the last thing he wanted them to do. He was standing, staring at his bedside table and the objects on it, his knuckles white on the table's edge. He didn't want to see anybody. Joe stirred and then turned and looked across the room, noting his blurred reflection in the dresser mirror.

He didn't even want to see himself.

Outside it was dark and that suited his mood, since it was dark too. As the night masked the harsh realities of the day, the darkness within him was hard at work at the same thing – trying to swallow whatever it was that had happened to him and failing. He still didn't know exactly what _it_ was. He'd been hit over the head and they said he'd been robbed. He didn't remember the robbery. He really didn't remember much. But what he did remember...

Joe swallowed hard over a lump in his throat the size of Nevada.

What he did remember was disturbing.

Joe crossed over to his bed and sat on its edge. Up until the time Roy Coffee had come, everything had been a blank. He'd tried so hard to remember – to _see_ what had happened. He'd never thought about using his other senses, scent and sound and...touch. When the Sheriff's question awakened them he'd been flooded with all kinds of impressions – the smell of whiskey mixed with sweat, the pressure on his backside, rough fingers on his throat... But worst of all were the words. They echoed in his mind, repeating, never stopping, _never_ going away.

' _I want_ you _, pretty boy.'_

Joe shuddered. 'Pretty boy'.

No. He...couldn't go _there_. Not now.

Maybe not ever.

Rising, Joe began to pace the room, seeking in the confined space to escape his thoughts. He walked it from one end to the other a dozen times counting the paces, filling his brain with numbers, driving out the 'maybes' and the 'could have beens, as well as the ' _No way in Hells!_ ' His wandering took him to the other side of the room where his dresser was. He stopped and looked at his reflection. He hardly recognized himself. His skin was pale from lack of sun and his cheeks were hollow, sunken from days of pain and lack of food. But it was his eyes that bothered him the most.

They were haunted by a kind of dread.

A knock on the door jolted him and Joe jumped. A second later a voice asked, "Joe, can I come in?"

It was Adam.

Joe drew a deep breath and held it. Maybe if he kept quiet Adam would go away.

"Joe?"

But no, that wouldn't work. Adam would come in to check on him and he'd be forced to talk. It took only a second for him to decide that retreat was the wisest course. Flying across the room, Joe dove into his bed and pulled the sheets up to his chin, wincing as he landed. Slamming his eyes shut, he pretended to sleep.

A second later the door opened. "Joe, are you awake?"

 _No, I'm not_ , he thought. _Not if it means I have to talk to you._

Joe heard Adam's intake of breath, followed by the release of it in a sigh. Seconds later he felt his eldest brother's presence beside him. Then, to his chagrin, Adam sat on the side of the bed and reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Joe?"

He had to choose – face his brother or pretend to sleep.

He chose the latter.

Adam sighed again. He didn't lift his hand. Speaking quietly, his brother began to talk as if he _could_ hear him – not knowing, of course, that he did.

"Joe," he said softly, "I know you can't hear me, but maybe somehow you'll know what I say. I wanted to... I'm sorry for not being there for you the last few days. It's hard to explain."

Joe winced. He felt like a lout.

"I know we're brothers, but, well, I've always felt, in a way, that you were _my_ kid as much as Pa's. Those first years, when Hoss was little and Pa was away all the time, it was my job to keep both of you safe. Hoss was big as me by five but you, Joe, you were like your mother, small-boned and, I thought, fragile." His brother laughed. "You proved me wrong on that one fast enough." Adam shifted and lifted his hand. "I don't know what I'm trying to tell you, Joe. I guess it's just that most of the time when you think I don't trust you, when you think _I_ think of you as a child and won't give you responsibility or accept the fact that you can take it, I'm really, well, afraid that something will happen to you and it will be _my_ fault." He heard his brother draw in a deep breath. "Like it is now."

Joe was caught in a strange place. He knew he should shift, moan, do something to indicate to Adam that he was awake or waking, so his brother wouldn't say something he would regret. But, at the same time, he wanted to stay still.

He _wanted_ this window into Adam's soul.

Adam shifted and then fell silent. Joe cracked one eyelid to see if he could tell what he was doing. His brother remained on the bed. Adam had his head in his hands.

Just as he decided he _should_ say something, Adam turned and looked at him again.

"I'm so sorry, Joe. I'm sorry for not being strong enough to say 'no'. For not _ordering_ you to come home that night. You know, sometimes you think when you love someone that means you should give in to what they want. Pa never does. He's got it right. I gave in and look" – his brother's voice broke – "look what I've done." Adam got suddenly to his feet. Joe peeked again and saw him walk over to the window. Once there, his brother leaned on the sash and looked out. A few seconds later, to his astonishment, he watched Adam strike away a tear.

Still a coward, Joe closed his eyes again as his brother returned to the side of the bed.

"One thing more, Joe, and then I'll go," Adam said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I swear on the love I bear you that – no matter _how_ long it takes – I will find the man who did this to you and I will _break_ him. If I have to, I will end his life with my _bare_ hands." His brother paused. "I know that won't undo the damage, but maybe, just maybe, it will bring you peace.

"Something I doubt I will _ever_ know again."

Seconds later Joe heard the door close. He waited a few more and then rolled over. A heartbeat later he climbed out of bed and went to the door where he listened before opening it. Stepping out into the hall he listened again. He heard Adam and Pa exchange a few words and then the front door of the house open and close.

Returning to his bed, Joe sat on the side of it again. He was not quite certain what to make of his brother's words. He understood that Adam was nearly bent in half under the weight of what had happened to him, but he still wasn't sure exactly _why_. He'd been beaten badly, but he'd been beaten before and Adam knew he'd be fine. What else could it be? Joe closed his eyes and concentrated on the memories Roy's questions had evoked. He smelled the whiskey mixed with sweat again, felt the pressure on his backside, began to choke with the fingers on his throat, and heard the words. Those _damn_ words.

' _I want you, pretty boy'_.

Joe grew still as the words collided with the smell and the sound and the touch and he was propelled back to that night.

He was in the dark, circling Pointer's Arch. He saw Beck's pale face flash in the darkness and the moon glint off the barrel of the gun his friend carried. With a nod he entered the space between the towering rocks. It was even blacker than the night. There was a sound – a sigh, a shifting in the dark, and then something hard came down on the back of his neck. Consciousness fled and he fell prone to the ground.

That should have been all he could remember. It _was_ all he had been able to remember for a week now.

But there was more.

Joe remembered swimming up out of the darkness and clawing at wakefulness, though it was hard. His head pounded and rang like someone was laying on the front porch bell, pulling the string over and over and over again. The world around him was a watercolor blur that wouldn't keep still and kept winking in and out like a shuttered light on a stormy night. He tried to lift his body up but couldn't. That was when he became aware of two men. One was standing before him. The other was behind and on top of him. A hand found his neck and pressed his head down, making him eat dirt. Then, whoever it was, leaned in. He felt the brush of whiskers on his cheek and then he heard _those_ words.

' _I want_ you _, pretty boy.'_

Joe's knuckles were white where they gripped the bedclothes, twisting the fabric like it was the man's neck. In the stillness of the room he could hear his heartbeat. It was rapid. He was breathing hard, like he was in the middle of a fight. His body tensed, awaiting the next blow.

The hand that held his neck shifted to his arm. Another one joined it. Together they took hold of his sleeve and roughly peeled off his suit coat. Next the hands caught hold of his dress shirt and ripped it in half, leaving the remnants lying beneath him. He'd winked out again then, but when he woke up he could feel the wind on his backside and knew he was near naked. Close by one of the men was pacing, walking back and forth, muttering under his breath. He heard the sound of a man's fist slapping his palm and then, once again, the stink of whiskey and sweat, the pressure on his back, and the words...

Only they were different this time.

' _Don't worry, Joe, everything's gonna be all right.'_

Joe gasped and began to shake uncontrollably. He knew what had been done to him, but worse than that.

It had been done by someone he knew.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Phoebe stepped outside after her conversation with Ben. She'd forgotten a shawl so she sat on the porch with her arms wrapped tightly around her body, trying to keep warm. She hadn't been there ten minutes when the front door opened and Adam Cartwright stepped out. Even though Adam was the one who had suggested she come to the Ponderosa, of all of the Cartwrights he was the one she had had the least dealings with since her arrival. The handsome black-haired man was often away, but more than that, seemed to have no interest in conversing with her the few times he _had_ come home.

As he came abreast her, Ben's oldest son paused. "Aren't you cold?" he asked.

She stifled a shiver. "I'm all right."

Phoebe had noticed that Adam had a funny little thing he did with his lips, where the ends pulled up like a bow. He'd tilt his head then and raise one eyebrow as if whatever it was he looked at puzzled him.

He was doing it now.

"I'll go get you a wrap," he said, surprising her. A moment later when he returned with a small throw and draped it around her shoulders, Ben's eldest said, "Now we can't have the nurse needing nursing, can we?"

She caught the throw in her fingers and pulled it tightly about her throat. The warmth was wonderful. "No, I guess not," she said. "Thank you."

Adam nodded and then stepped off of the porch. Instead of walking on, he turned his face up and looked at the stars. "One pay-off for a frosty November day is a clear night sky. Look at those stars."

They _were_ beautiful and brilliant, but stars had always seemed cold to her – distant and dispassionate. It seemed they looked on humanity with its triumphs and tragedies with indifference. "They are amazing to look at out here," she admitted. "When I was little I lived in a city. You couldn't see them there like you can here."

"I know," Adam said, surprising her with the conversation. "When I went to school back East, it was one of the things I missed."

Emboldened, Phoebe echoed, " _One_ of the things?"

"That, and Hop Sing's cooking," he quipped.

The redhead laughed. "Well, Hop Sing's cooking _is_ remarkable."

Adam went to the table and took a seat. "Pa just told me you will be filling in for Hop Sing in a few days when the hands hit the trail."

"Little Joe is getting better. I don't think it will be very long before he doesn't need me. I've only been checking in on him a few times a day as it is." She met that curious gaze. "It's time I pulled my weight around here or went back home."

"And you don't want to go home?"

Phoebe ducked her head. "Adam, to be truthful, I have _no_ home. The Bucket is certainly not that, and my mother, well, she doesn't want me living with her and my younger sister and brother. Not...not with what I do for a living."

"You mean, being a saloon girl?"

She looked at her hands. "And all that goes with it," Phoebe said quietly.

Adam remained silent a moment. "You know, Phoebe, when you first offered to come here, I wondered about your motives. It's pretty obvious what your feelings are for Joe."

"And you worried I hoped to make him dependent on me by making him grateful for what I had done?"

Adam shrugged. "I considered it."

"Well, Joe's big brother, you needn't worry," she said softly as she rose. "Even if Joe cared for me in that way, I know I would never be accepted as a Cartwright, and after what I have seen – _experienced_ here, there is no way I would do anything to drive a wedge between Joe and his family. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going inside."

The man in black stopped her with a hand on her arm. "What do you mean, 'never be accepted as a Cartwright'?"

She met his puzzled gaze. "Oh, Adam, don't be naive. You know what I am."

"No," he said, "tell me what you _are_."

The skin around Phoebe's blue eyes pinched. "You're being cruel."

"No, I'm not. You know, slapping a label on something limits its possibilities. If I pick up a bottle and its labeled 'rot gut', I know I'm not getting champagne. However, if the bottle has no label, well then, I have to test it to know what it's made of." Adam paused. "You've been tested this past week, Phoebe, and we _know_ what you're made of."

Tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. The oldest of the Cartwright boys looked nonplussed.

"What did I say?" he asked.

Phoebe lifted a hand, struck the tears away, and shook her head.

Adam waited until she looked up at him. "Thank you," he said simply. "Thank you for what you have done for Joe. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything."

She shook her head. "It's nothing. Joe was kind to me – "

"Even though you didn't deserve it?"

There was an edge to his voice. Startled, she looked at him. Then she realized what Adam was doing. He was giving word to _her_ thoughts.

"Yes," she answered.

Adam withdrew his hand. "Phoebe, a wise friend once told me that we cannot achieve more in life than what we believe in our heart of hearts we _deserve_ to have. You'll never escape that saloon, or the life you've led, until you believe that you _can_."

Another tear fell. "Why are you being so kind?"

He caught her chin in his fingers and lifted her head so she could look at him. "Because, after the care you have given my brother, expecting nothing in return, you _do_ deserve it."

Behind them the door opened. As the interior light spilled out into the night, Ben Cartwright's tall broad form filled the door. Phoebe turned toward him and immediately knew something was wrong.

"Adam," Ben asked, "is your brother with you?"

"You mean Hoss? You know he's still out on the range, Pa."

The silver-haired man shook his head. "Not Hoss. Joe."

Phoebe watched the man in black go rigid. "Joe's not in his room?"

Ben shook his head. "I just went up to check in on him. Joseph's not in his bed and he's not anywhere else in the house. I was hoping he was out here with you."

"Sorry to say it, Pa, but he's not."

The older man sighed. "I should never have let Roy question him."

"You couldn't have stopped it. Roy's the law."

"And _I_ am Joe's father." The older man turned and, building up a head of steam, headed for the house. "Adam, saddle our horses. We're going after him." Ben threw his hands up in the air. "By God! What am I going to do with that boy?"

"Pa, I think we should leave Joe alone."

Ben spun back. Phoebe felt his fear and fury as he demanded, "You _what?"_

"If this has to do with Roy questioning Joe, Pa – if Joe's remembered something more – then he may _need_ to be alone."

"Your brother needs his family around him."

When Adam saw he was not going to persuade his father, he changed tactics. "All right then, let me go. Alone."

"Adam, no – "

"Pa, listen to me, if one of us goes, I think it should be me. You know how Joe is, he'll talk to Hoss or me before he does you." At his father's look, he added with a shrug, "It's just the way we are."

The older man considered it. "All right." Lifting a finger, he pointed it at the man in black. "But if you are not back here – _with_ your brother – in four hours time, I am coming to find you both. Do you understand?"

Adam nodded.

After his father had gone back inside, Phoebe asked, "Where do you think Joe went?"

The man in black turned toward her. "I don't think, I _know_ ," he said. "Just like Pa knows, because it's where we would have gone."

"And where is that?"

He looked to the north.

"Back to the scene of the crime."

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oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

TEN

Joe was exhausted by the time he reached Pointer's Arch. Not only was he plain worn out, but each step Cochise took was a jolt of agony to a body that had had too much.

Everything hurt.

But he wasn't going to let that stop him. It was there – close – like a word on the tip of his tongue, the memory of all that had happened. He knew now that he had to find the monster who had done this to him before his brother did – before Adam peered into the darkness so long that it looked back into him. He had never heard such words come out of his cool, calm brother. Adam was a man of action, but it was _well-thought_ out action. Unlike him, Adam didn't act on impulse.

Or at least he never had before.

Joe shivered and pulled the collar of his nightshirt closer about his throat. What his brother had expressed tonight when he thought he was asleep was _pure_ _raw_ emotion. It frightened him, not for himself, but for Adam. He realized now that his older brother was hurting nearly as much as he was. Adam was bent under a load of guilt bigger than a man could bear. He blamed himself.

Now Joe knew for _what._

A wave of nausea washed over him as he carefully dismounted and tethered Cochise to a tree. Joe stood for a moment, leaning his head on the saddle, and then turned to face what lay before him. There, silhouetted against the risen moon, was the Arch. It's piled stones loomed over him like the tower in the Brothers' Grimm fairy tale his brother Hoss used to read him, the one called, 'The Pink', in which a woman, unjustly accused, is imprisoned in a high stone tower where neither sun nor moon could be seen. The space within the stones of Pointer's Arch was like that. It was black as the Devil's heart.

It both terrified _and_ called to him.

Joe steeled himself. If he was going to free his brother from deep guilt and himself from the deeper, rising tide of shame and disgrace that threatened to overwhelm him – if he was _ever_ going to be able to call himself a 'man' again, ever to look at his brothers and his father without feeling that same _shame_ , then this was something he _had_ to do.

He had to face the monster head-on.

Drawing a deep breath, the man with the curly brown hair held it and then let it out slowly.

Then Joe stepped into the Arch.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam saddled Sport and flew out of the ranch, pushing both the horse and himself as hard as he could. Though he still believed it would have been better to give Joe some room, he knew his father meant what he said and the older man would follow hard on his heels as soon as the four hour limit had expired. As he galloped toward Virginia City and Pointer's Arch, the man in black considered what he would do when he got there _if_ that was indeed where his little brother had gone. If Joe's memory had returned, what would he say to him? _How_ would he help him?

How could he _make_ Joe understand it made no difference?

Pointer's Arch was about four miles outside of town, so he knew – pushing Sport as he was – that he could make it in under an hour. That would give him an hour or so to find and talk to his brother before they would need to head back. Considering the subject, that was probably far too little or far _too much_ time in which to do so. He wondered now, since Joe had left the house so soon after his visit, if his little brother had been awake for a part of it. Maybe, as he'd feared, something he'd said in that unguarded moment had served as a trigger, bringing back more detail of that horrible night. Adam's jaw clenched and tightened as he swallowed over a wave of nausea. A man never truly knew what he was made of until he was taken to the end of his mental and spiritual rope, and then driven to the place where his hands reached for it, but found nothing.

Nothing but what was already in him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe was in the Arch. It was completely dark where he stood but that didn't mean the darkness was empty. It was filled with hazy indistinguishable shadows that moved with a life of their own. The shadows shifted, moving around him, leaning in, towering over him like whoever it had been who had straddled him and ridden him like an animal. Again he smelled that scent – whiskey and sweat – and heard the hateful words ring in his ears. Closing his eyes, Joe listened this time, searching for something in the voice – a certain accent, a turn of phrase, _anything_ that might lead him to recognize who the man was.

' _I want you, pretty boy.'_

' _Don't worry, Joe, everything's gonna be all right.'_

Whoever it was knew him by _name_. That meant the attack hadn't been a random act or one of opportunity, but had been well thought out and planned.

Joe sickened. He thought he was going to vomit. _Planned._

Who _planned_ on destroying a man?

As he continued to press for more, as he went over and over and _over_ the attack again in his mind, Joe's heart began to pound fast and hard as a spooked herd dashing across the baked earth of the desert. It pounded so hard and rushed _so_ fast he was afraid it might just burst out of his chest. Lightheaded, he dropped to his knees. His knuckles went white where he gripped the grass and for a moment he was overwhelmed by the deepest, most desperate rage he had ever known. All too quickly, though, the rage betrayed him. Like a sudden storm it passed, leaving guilt and grief and shame and despair – oh, _God_ , the despair! – in its wake. He fought it, but he lost.

The tears flowed.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam spotted Cochise tethered to a tree before he got to Pointer's Arch. He halted where he was and dismounted. Leaving Sport behind, the man in black continued forward on foot.

The night was black. The stars he and Phoebe had been looking at had winked out, hidden by clouds that hinted at an approaching storm. The air was chill and there was a touch of rain in it – a cold wet rain that was enough to darken a man's thoughts, even if he had no other provocation. Pulling his coat up around his throat, Adam squared his shoulders and moved into it.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe hadn't moved. He sat hunched over, still gripping the grass, his fingers numb. Sobs wracked his slender frame, making him feel even less of a man and even more the _rightful_ victim of someone who was stronger than him both in determination and daring. Had he done something to give this man – whoever he was – the wrong impression? He knew there were men who liked men. He'd been around enough drifters and ranch hands and miners to be aware of it. There'd been a boy who had hung around him in school. He thought he was a friend until one day he realized the boy was interested in more than that. He'd decked him with a single punch.

Still, this was different. There was something this monster, whoever he was, had taken from him that had nothing to do with the man's sick desire or need for pleasure – and _everything_ to do with breaking him, with stealing his strength and confidence – with having _power_ over him.

He'd come to Pointer's Rock to slay the dragon and, in the end, it was him who ended up burned.

Joe stifled a sob. Stop crying, he ordered himself. _Stop._ _Crying._ As another wave of despair washed over him, he held his breath. His only reward was a heaving chest and the feeling that he was going to pass out. Dropping his head between his hands where they still clutched the grass, he tried to prevent it. He didn't want to pass out – not _here_ – not where _it_ happened.

Abruptly, Joe straightened up. The man _could_ still be here. Watching. Waiting. His head turned from side to side rapidly examining the shadows, sniffing for that scent and listening for that voice – that unfamiliar _familiar_ voice that he should have known – _had_ to know.

 _Needed_ to know.

He'd put on his gun before he left the house. Rising quickly, Joe palmed it and cocked the trigger, ready to shoot at the first thing that moved.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam was making his way toward the Arch. From within its dark recesses came the sound of heartbreaking cries and he supposed it was Little Joe. That presented him with a dilemma. He didn't want to embarrass his brother, but at the same time, if Joe was in pain then he _needed_ him and he couldn't retreat. The man in black halted just within a circle of trees that surrounded the tall stack of rocks and listened again. The sounds were those of a soul on the edge of being lost.

Damning sense and reason to Hell, he ran toward the Arch.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe turned in a circle like a caged animal. He'd heard a noise – the whinny of a horse nearby – and knew someone was coming. His pa had always taught him to shout out a warning if he wasn't sure, but if this was the fiend who had assaulted him before he didn't _deserve_ a warning.

He deserved to die.

As the sound grew closer Joe stepped out of the arch. His finger closed on the trigger and he fired.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam saw Joe, standing like a pale white fury with a gun in his hand about three seconds before the gunpowder ignited, lighting his little brother's terrified face before propelling the metal cylinder down the scored barrel and out at a speed it would be hard to avoid at this distance. The man in black twisted violently and reared back almost in time.

But not quite.

Seconds later the bullet struck the flesh of Adam's forehead, spinning him and dropping him to the ground.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss returned to find his father seated outside in the chair Joe had occupied the night before. The older man was so quiet he almost missed him. It wasn't until he stepped onto the porch and opened the front door to go in, allowing the light to escape, that he saw him.

He hadn't seen his pa look that way since Marie died.

"Pa?"

The older man didn't move. "Yes, son?"

"How come you're sitting out here in the dark?"

"I'm waiting on your brothers," he answered.

It took a second. " _Brothers?_ You mean 'two'?"

His father stirred. "Yes. I discovered Joe was gone. Adam went to find him."

"Gone? Joe?" Hoss closed the door and went to his father's side. "Little brother ain't well enough to be running around."

"No. No, he's not." The older man rose to his feet. He pulled a pocket watch out and checked it. "Fifteen minutes more and I go after them."

Hoss puzzled over it for a minute. "How will you know where to go?"

"I think Adam thought the same as me, that your brother would be headed for...for the place where all of this began."

"Pa, we gotta go help him!"

"I gave your older brother four hours. It's not up yet."

"Why'd Adam want to go alone?"

Hoss didn't realize how much his question would hurt the older man. "Adam thought Joe would talk to him." That implied, of course, that Joe would _not_ talk to _him._

"Pa, you know how it is," he tried. "You had a brother. You can tell your brother things you just...well..that you couldn't tell your pa."

His father nodded. "I know that, son, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. You boys, you're," the older man's voice cracked under the strain, "you're my life."

"Joe knows that Pa," the big man said softly. "So does Adam."

The older man nodded. He looked at his watch again and then snapped the gold case shut with a click. "Saddle Buck for me, son. I'll let Phoebe know what we're doing, and then we're going to find your brothers."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam frowned. He shifted and moaned and then blinked, trying to find a focus. It ended up being the very concerned and contrite face of his little brother.

"Hey, big brother," Joe said sheepishly. "I thought I killed you."

"No such luck."

"Adam, don't josh about such a thing."

He could hear both the concern and guilt in his brother's voice. After another groan, the man in black reached up and touched his head. It was bandaged, but he could feel warm blood staining the rags.

"I got you good," Joe winced.

"You certainly did." He reached out then. "Joe, help me sit up."

"Do you think you should?"

Adam scowled. "Well, I'm going to whether I _should_ or not. You can help me or sit and watch me fall on my face."

Instantly, Joe's arm was around his shoulders. Once he was in position, his little brother caught a canteen up from the ground and offered it to him. "You want some water?"

He took the canteen even as he nodded. Once he was finished, he let Joe take it and put it to the side. Leaning back against the large stone his brother had propped him against, Adam fought nausea and dizziness to focus on the kid who sat beside him.

"How are you?"

Joe blinked. "You're the one who got shot. Shouldn't I be asking you?"

Adam sighed. "I'm fine. How are _you?"_

His little brother screwed up his face in that way he had since he was a little boy. It was something like the look you gave a parent when they found your hand in the jar of sweets. "I'm okay for a man who nearly killed his brother."

"Joe, you're avoiding the question." Adam hesitated, but then went on. "I heard you as I was walking up to the Arch. Do you need me to spell out _what_ I heard?" As Joe ducked his head, he asked again. _"How are you?"_

His brother sighed. "I don't know."

" _How_ don't you know? Tell me." Adam waited. After a second he added, "You have to tell someone."

His head remained down. "I don't know that I can, Adam. Not you."

He stared at Joe, thinking. "You were awake the other night when I came into your room, weren't you?"

Joe said nothing, but he nodded.

Adam tried to remember everything he had said. He was being honest – probably more honest than he should have been if he had known Joe could hear him. "I meant what I said."

Joe's curly brown head came up. The look out of his green eyes was intense. "I know that, Adam. That's _why_ I can't tell you."

A short silence fell between them.

"Is it _so_ bad?" he asked softly.

A shudder ran the length of his baby brother's slender frame. "It's my fault," he said at last.

"What's your fault?"

Joe's eyes flicked to his face and then away again. When he spoke, the word was as small as his voice. "Everything."

"Joe, what happened to you – "

His brother's anger broke like waves crashing on the shore. "Adam, you know I'm right! If I'd a listened to you, if I hadn't insisted on staying for the poker game – if I hadn't had so much to drink – it never would've happened!"

"You don't know that," he said firmly.

Joe jumped to his feet and began to pace. "Yes, I do! I had so much to drink that my head wasn't straight. I could've been faster, could've stopped him from...what he did."

'What he did' hung between them as an unspoken horror for which neither of them had words.

"Even if you had been completely sober, that blow to the head would have incapacitated you," Adam said in his most calm, most rational voice, even though the voice in his head was screaming that, for the _bastard_ who had done this to his brother, death was too _good_ a fate. Confident Joe. Cocky Joe. Ornery-to-the-bone and so-sure-of-himself you wanted to smack him Joe.

How dare that monster turn his brother into _this?_

"I don't know Adam. I – "

"I do."

Joe looked at him. For a moment, his expression didn't change. Then he half-smiled. "That's a lot of confidence in me coming from a man I just nearly killed by accident."

A little smile quirked the edges of his lips. "Thank God you couldn't hit a bucket sitting on a fence at two feet."

Joe's nose wrinkled. "You just try me," he said quietly.

Adam held his gaze. "I mean to."

"What?"

Adam reached up and touched his forehead. "I'd say we're even now, wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

He winced as his fingers came away bloody. "I did something stupid by letting you stay in town for that poker game, and you did something stupid by nearly killing me. I'd say that makes us square."

Joe scratched his head. "Sorry about that."

He held his brother's gaze. "I'm sorry too."

His little brother stared at him a moment longer and then, taking a seat beside him, leaned his head back against the wall of stone. "I don't blame you, big brother."

"Don't blame yourself either."

Joe leaned forward and rested his locked hands on his raised knee. "Adam, why do things like this happen? I mean...we go to church most Sundays and the Good Book promises God will watch over us..." Joe's face grew haunted. "I don't... I can't..." His brother's voice trailed off to next to nothing _. "...why?"_

Adam drew deep breath and looked at the sky. _Really_ , he thought, _really?_

Straightening up, the man in black reached out and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. Joe was trembling. It was only then that he noted how poorly he was dressed. Joe was still in his nightshirt and had simply pulled on a pair of boots and pants and tucked the tail of the thin garment into it. Adam hesitated and then he shifted and placed his arm around his brother's shoulders. He felt Joe tense and then relax in the embrace.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Joe. Since what...happened, I've asked the same questions and I can't say I've been entirely content with the answers." Adam shifted and drew his brother in a little closer, seeking to warm him. "When Marie – when your mother died – I watched Pa struggle with it. I was about to go East to school, Hoss was barely old enough to be on his own, and you were just a little boy. It seemed to me that Pa should break. He'd lost my mother, Inger, and now yours. But Pa never wavered. He never doubted God. He told me one time that life was like a woman's needlework. If you looked at it from the underside, it was a tangled mess, but when you turned it over and you realized the time and the skill and the knowledge that went into making the beautiful art you saw there, you had to know the one making it knew what she was doing. Pa said, 'Adam, it's like that with God. You have to trust the Maker's hand.'"

Joe's slender form slumped against his even as a soft rain began to fall outside the Arch. His brother's words were slurred with fatigue. "Do you, Adam?" he asked. "Do _you_ trust the Maker's hand?"

Adam sat there, feeling the weight and the warmth of his brother's form against his own. Joe could have been dead, but he wasn't. He was here. In his arms.

Safe.

Adam settled back and braced his head on the stone as well.

"Yes, Joe. I do."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Pa! I see Sport!" Hoss said in a tense whisper.

"And there's Cochise," the older man breathed as he checked his horse's progress, obviously relieved.

Hoss turned Chubb's nose toward him. "Where do you suppose Adam and Joe are?"

His father nodded toward Pointer's Arch. "I imagine we'll find them in there."

The big man frowned. "Why do you suppose Joe'd want to come _here_ of all places?"

"You know your brother," he said. "Joe's a scrapper. I've never known him to run from a fight." His father's face set in sadness. "Even when the fight is with himself."

Hoss looked toward the Arch, trying, but trying _not_ to think about what happened there near a week before. "You think Joe's gonna be all right?"

The older man nodded. "He's not alone. A man can survive anything if he's surrounded by those he loves. Come on."

The two of them nudged their mounts forward. When they came abreast Adam's horse, they tethered their own and dismounted and continued on foot.

He was the one who spotted them, sitting together within the Arch. Adam had his arm wrapped protectively around Joe. Joe's head rested on Adam's chest.

Both were asleep.

"Hoss." His father caught his arm and held him back. Then he indicated with a nod that they should retreat.

The big man was puzzled. "Pa, didn't you see Adam's head? He's hurt."

"I know, but it seems to be under control. I think, Hoss, that maybe it's important we let the two of them come home on their own rather than waking them and dragging them there." The older man sighed. "There seems to be no danger and your older brother is just as much in need of healing as your younger one."

"I know Adam sure does blame himself for what happened to Joe," Hoss acknowledged quietly. "But I don't feel right leavin' them out here, with both of them hurting."

"I understand that, son." His father thought a moment. "Why don't you keep watch during the night, and then ride out before they become aware that you're here?"

Hoss nodded his thanks. "I can do that, Pa. What're you goin' to do?"

" I think, since we've come so far, that I am going to ride into town and see if Roy has found out anything new about Joe's attack or about that other tragic young man who was killed."

The big man looked at the sleeping pair again. "We was lucky, weren't we? We coulda lost Joe."

His father nodded. "Lucky, and blessed."

Hoss removed his hat and scratched his head. "God's ways sure are mysterious, ain't they, Pa?"

"As above ours as ours are above an ant's."

"Why'd you suppose God would have let somethin' like this happen to Joe?"

The older man shook his head. "Why did God let your mother die? Why Elizabeth, or Marie? The Good Book doesn't promise Heaven here, son, just that there is something better after this life, and that Heaven is _real."_

The big man nodded. "Well, if you ask me, God's gotta have a special spot for Little Joe. He done rescued him enough times already for a man twice his age."

"I think, no, I _know_ God has a special path for your brother – for _each_ of you. The trials we face are what make us the men we become. God tries those hardest whom He loves the most."

Hoss snorted. "Well, then, he _sure_ does love Little Joe!"

It was good to hear his father laugh.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe was weak and shivering when they woke up. Adam wrapped his coat around him and placed his brother before him on Sport and then, with Cochise tethered behind, started for home just as the sun broke over the horizon and the world began to wake. As they rode Joe's head lulled and from that point on he was in and out of consciousness until they reached the house. In spite of everything Adam had to smile as they began their journey. He'd awakened and gone to fill the canteen he'd brought before they did so. Hoss had done his best to disappear into the foliage, but he caught a glimpse of him. As he returned to Joe, he'd heard his middle brother ride away. Hoss would be there on the porch waiting to greet them with arms wide open and no questions asked.

As he had said to their father earlier, it was how they were.

Joe moaned and shifted beneath his arm. Adam drew him in more tightly to his chest. He didn't think his brother was sick, just worn out. The strain of facing what had happened to him would have been more than enough, let alone the ride to Pointer's Arch when Joe had barely been able to walk on his own two days before and now, the ride back. He could only hope this night would bring a kind of new beginning and that they both could let go of their guilt and move on.

It would be harder for Joe, he knew. Somewhere out there was a man who had taken terrible advantage of him. The fact that he had, and that the man remained free, was bound to leave scars. But, hopefully, now that they all knew and could all pull together, the love that they shared would be enough to bring his brother through.

As they entered the yard and he called on Sport to slow, Joe stirred beneath his hand and looked up. "Adam," he murmured dreamily. "Where are we?"

On the porch Adam saw someone shift and rise from the chair. A moment later Hoss stepped off the deck and headed for them. Behind him, Hop Sing emerged from the house to watch. Phoebe was there too, and though there was no sign of their Pa, Adam knew he was there in spirit.

"I'll tell you where we are, Joe," he said, giving his brother a little squeeze.

"We're home."


	6. Part Six

ELEVEN

Ben Cartwright crossed his arms and leaned on the top of the fence beside the stable. He was watching his youngest work. Another week had passed and, physically, Joe seemed to be recovering nicely. Hop Sing had been forcing extra portions on Joseph at supper to help him regain the bulk he had lost, and he had set his youngest to easy chores like the painting he was doing now. Joe was urging him to allow him to take on more. So far he had refused. It wasn't only that his son didn't have the stamina – Joe lacked the mental acumen as well.

Since the night he and Adam had ridden into the yard after their short excursion in the woods, Joe had not been himself. He'd often found his youngest sitting in the Great Room or in the chair on the porch, just staring. Though he had been given leave to go into Virginia City with his brothers, he'd chosen not to and had stayed close to home – as if the memories of a certain journey on that road were more than he could bear. Joe's temper had grown shorter than ever. It took very little to set him off. Sometimes it seemed he was angry with himself. Other times, at God and the world. Ben suspected it had something to do with the fear that had followed in the wake of realizing what had happened that night. Joseph was fearless – or he had been. The fact that he hadn't taken off again – without permission – on his own to solve the mystery of what happened to him said a great deal. The older man looked at his boy, working hard and breaking a sweat. He was so serious. That was another thing, Joe rarely smiled and was less prone to laugh.

 _Dear Lord!_ How he missed that laugh.

But these were not the things that troubled him most. His son had a lot to process. He knew that. The thing that bothered him the most was that Joe had withdrawn. He and the boys would end the day, go in and eat their supper, and then Joe would excuse himself and go up to his room. Words were the key that unlocked a man's soul. Without words – without communication – it was nearly impossible to tell what someone was feeling.

That night, when Joe bolted and Adam went to find him, he had ridden in to talk to Roy Coffee. The Sheriff hadn't been in upon his arrival and so he had taken a seat and waited on him. Roy came in later. He and his deputy had been out following a lead on the Fitzgerald boy's murder, but it had come to naught. Someone thought they had seen Alec leave the saloon in the company of an older, well-dressed man. Roy had gone to question the witness, to see if they knew anything more, but was disappointed in the end. He and the sheriff sat for a while talking, and then Ben had left to see if he could find Doc Martin at home. Since Adam had designed their house with a large common area and an open stair, it was hard to talk and be certain no one would hear. Most of the time that was fine as he had no secrets to hide, but now – with _this_ – he didn't want his youngest to hear some of the questions he would be forced to ask the doctor.

Ben watched as Joe stopped to take a drink, and then dipped a rag in the water and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. The weather had taken a sudden turn and today felt more like September than November. He noticed his son had tossed on an extra layer in the form of a loose fitting flannel shirt. By its size, it could've been one of Adam's. It was definitely not in keeping with Joe's usual dapper, form-fitting, attention-grabbing style. His son was a handsome and fit man and he liked to show it off.

The fact that he wasn't was another thing that troubled him.

After leaving Roy's office he'd crossed to the doctor's on the off-chance the older man would be working and was fortunate to find him there. When the door opened to his knock, Doc Martin's weary face appeared. He had just returned from a visit to a farm south of the city where he had delivered a set of twins, only one of whom had survived. Even though he knew he had done all he could, the loss weighed heavily on the doctor's conscience. As they began to speak about it, the conversation turned naturally to guilt and the tools needed for coping with it. That took them to Joe and – though his eldest son would have decried the need – Adam.

He remembered the conversation like it had been written down.

After asking how Joe was doing and being told that he had remembered more and as a consequence run away, the doctor had leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together and looked over them at him.

"You're worried about Joe, Ben, and concerned how you can meet his needs – I mean, more than the _physica_ l ones."

He'd admitted that he was.

The doctor had risen then and gone to a small cupboard across the room where he palmed a bottle of Brandy and returned to his desk with it and two crystal glasses. Ben listened as the liquid reached the point where the sound of it being poured went silent. The Doc returned the stopper to the bottle, picked his glass up, and downed half of his glass in one swig.

"Well, Ben, you have every right to be," Paul said a heartbeat later. "People who experience this sort of trauma go through stages as they begin to cope. It starts with a denial of what happened and a need to separate themselves from life, and quickly moves through rage to melancholia to one of two conclusions – acceptance or complete denial, which means – in a way – that they have buried it and themselves."

Ben stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they die – in _some_ way. Oh, their heartbeat may not stop, but they stop living." The doctor took another sip. "I hate to tell you, Ben, but there have been victims of this kind of attack who, when they find they cannot escape what happened, choose to take their own lives. Worse than that, though, is the individual who withdraws permanently from normal society by becoming abusive themselves, by drinking too much or inciting anger in order to provoke a confrontation, or by completely withdrawing. Often all of these go hand-in-hand."

How well he remembered Thomas Slade's case. He had watched the man disintegrate before his eyes.

"Joe's a strong boy, Ben," Paul Martin finished, "but in the end, he's only human."

Ben shifted his position on the fence, moving a little to the southeast so he could continue to keep Joe in his line of sight. The boy was working again, lifting a large brush and applying paint to the side of the stable. Paul had gone on then to tell him what signs to watch for – disturbed sleep, recurrent nightmares or flashbacks, or an inability to remain asleep. Those who had been abused often lost interest in the things they had once found fascinating. Some felt 'on guard', as if they had to watch for constant danger. These were the signs that led to the doctor's conclusion – acceptance or denial.

At some point, in the last two weeks, Joe had evidenced _all_ of them.

The silver-haired man straightened up. Putting a hand to his aching back, he stretched toward the sky. He would never put it this way to Joe, but it was like having a small child again. With them completely dependent on you, you found you had to give up your independence. He checked in on Joe at least twice a night, which was wrecking havoc with his daytime energy. Since Hop Sing was gone there were more things to do at home, though Phoebe's return tonight would lessen that burden by taking most of the responsibility for the ranch house chores off his and Joe's brothers' shoulders. The redhead had left the Ponderosa shortly after Joe's escape. They'd planned on her staying away for a few days and then returning at his request to exchange her position as caregiver and house guest for a paying job as temporary cook and housekeep. He hoped having Phoebe back would be healing for his son. She was a beautiful young lady and, through her own misfortune, had an understanding of what Joe had been through that they lacked.

She was expected any time.

Ben came out of his reverie to find Joe watching him. The big brush he held at his side was bleeding brown-red paint on the ground. His son raised a hand and shielded his eyes and then called out.

"Hey, Pa! Do you need something?"

"Just enjoying the warm day, Joseph. How are youdoing?"

"This side's almost done."

"Not with the building, son, how are _you?"_

Joe dropped the paint brush and came over to the fence. When he stopped, he wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve before saying, "I'm okay, Pa. Really."

There was lot packed into that final word.

Ben remained silent for a moment. "You know I can't help but worry, son."

Joe shrugged. "Guess I can't stop you."

"Are you tired yet? Do you need to rest?"

"And have Hoss and Adam accuse me of dodging my chores? No thank you!" Joe replied with a tight smile. "Really, I'm fine other than the fact that I'd like to get back to what I do best – working on the range, busting broncos, and such."

"I know what Doc Martin would say to busting broncos, and so do you," Ben said, his tone slightly stern. "But, if you promise to take it easy until the end of the week, we'll see what we can do about finding you something a little more to your liking on Monday."

Joe's lips curled up and one eye winked. "'Bout time too."

The silver-haired man was just about to respond when the sound of horse's hooves striking the packed earth made them both turn toward the yard. Moments later a lone horse appeared **.**

It was Roy Coffee.

Instantly his youngest's demeanor changed. Joe's eyes narrowed and he began to breathe more heavily. "I'm gonna get back to painting, Pa," he said, and quickly turned to do so.

"Joe," Ben said softly, halting him. "I imagine Roy is here to talk to you."

His son turned back, every muscle rigid. "Well, I don't want to talk to him," he said between gritted teeth.

Before Joe could make his escape the Sheriff was at their side.

"Ben. Joe," he said, nodding to them in turn. "I'm glad I found at least one Cartwright at home."

"What is it, Roy?" Ben's eyes flicked to his son and back to the sheriff. "Is this something to do with the investigation?

"I don't rightly know, Ben. Seem's as it might, but there's no way of knowin' for sure until the young lady can answer questions."

Joe had been looking at the ground. His head came up. "Young lady?"

"That saloon girl that was stayin' with you, Phoebe Howath. One of the other girls found her in her room this morning beat to within an inch of her life."

Ben watched the news strike his youngest like a blow. "Phoebe?" Joe repeated. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Doc Martin's with her now. Even beat as she is, she stayed awake long enough to make sure someone come out and told you. I guess you was expecting her?" The tone of Roy's voice showed that he didn't exactly understand why.

"She was going to fill in for Hop Sing for a week or two," Ben replied, telling half the truth. "What happened? Do you know?"

The sheriff shook his head. "She ain't talked much. Probably won't for a few days."

"Pa, you gotta let me go to town."

Ben turned to look at his son. Joe's lean form was straight as a spike awaiting the hammer. "Joe," he said softly, "no, I _don't_."

"I...owe her, Pa. I _need_ to go." Joe swallowed hard. "Pa, _please_."

His son hadn't said much about the two weeks that Phoebe had tended him. He probably found the whole thing a little embarrassing. But it was obvious from Joe's reaction to the news that he had deep feelings for the young woman. Whether they were of a romantic nature or not, he had no idea.

Ben considered it, weighing the danger against the spark of life in Joe's eyes. "All right," he said at last, "but not alone. Hoss is due back soon. You can go if you take him with you."

Anger crinkled the edges of his son's green eyes. Since his memory had begun to return anything that seemed to suggest he had any kind of weakness had been a catalyst for disaster. Ben watched Joe draw several steadying breaths before he nodded.

The silver-haired man turned back to the Sheriff. "Where is the girl?"

"She's at the Bucket of Blood in her room. Like I said, I left the Doc with her. I'll ride back before you, Little Joe, and meet you and Hoss on the trail if there's any change."

"Thank you, Roy." Ben Cartwright watched the sheriff mount and take off, and then turned back to his son. "Joe, while you're in town - "

"I know!" his youngest exploded. "Don't _go_ anywhere by yourself. Don't _look_ at anyone. Don't _talk_ to anyone! Don't breath!" Joe slammed through the gate and headed for the house. _"Don't live!"_

"Son!" he called after him, but it was too late. Joe was beyond his reach.

' _I'm okay, Pa. Really.'_

That was another thing that troubled him, his son seemed to have learned how to lie.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss looked over his beer at his little brother. Joe was sitting halfway slunk down the wooden chair, his fingers wrapped around his untouched mug. It was the first time Joe had been to town since the attack and the first time he had returned to the Bucket of Blood. It was also the first time _he_ had seen his little brother off of the Ponderosa since they'd taken him home half-dead and it startled him to see the change. Joe had lost weight. His usually tanned skin was pale. There was a pinched look about him, especially around the eyes, and his body was tense as if he was pulled in and hunkered down and spoiling for a fight.

All the laughter seemed to have gone out of him.

"I'm going to go upstairs and see what's taking so long," Joe announced as he scooted back his chair and started to rise.

"Now, Joe, you know you _cain't_ do that. The Doc's with Miss Phoebe. You just sit yourself down and take a sip of that beer. It'll calm you nerves."

"I'm not nervous!" Joe snapped back.

"Well, if you ain't nervous then you're just plumb _mean_ 'cause you've about took my head off a dozen times now."

Joe's jaw tightened. He sat back down. "Sorry."

"I know you're worried about that gal up there, Joe. We all are. But you just can't go bustin' in while the Doc's with her. You know that." Hoss shoved the mug closer to him. "You just take a drink of that while you wait."

Joe looked at the mug and shoved it back toward him. "I don't want any."

Hoss shook his head. He finished his drink off and then said, "I never knew a blow to the head to take the love of liquor out of man. Someone should – "

The big man stopped. His brother's tense form had gone rigid.

He felt like an idiot.

"Sorry, Joe, sorry. I shouldn't have – "

Joe slammed his hand down on the well-beaten tabletop, upsetting his mug and most of the patrons around them. "I'm tired of everyone treating me like an unweaned pup and feeling like they have to pussyfoot around me!"

Hoss's temper was flaring too. His fingers gripped the opposite side of the table. "Well'n, if you didn't act like one, we wouldn't have to treat you that way!"

"You just get up out of that chair, big brother, and you come for me! I've had it!"

Suddenly, Hoss realized he was acting like a child too. "Now, you know I cain't do that, little brother. You ain't well."

"I'm well enough to do this!"

Before he knew it Joe had stepped on his chair and was flying over the table. His brother was little compared to him, but the force of his weight striking hard knocked him down. The people at the tables around them scattered – but not _too_ far. It was too much of an entertainment to watch the Cartwright boys have a go at each other.

Some of them were probably already placing bets.

As his brother began to wail on him Hoss steeled himself to take it. He was _sure_ enough gonna hurt in the morning, but it seemed to him that Joe needed to let it all out. When he failed to respond, his little brother quieted and looked at him – and then landed a punch on his chin that drove his head to the ground.

" _Dad-blame it!"_ Hoss snorted. "That there _does_ it!"

Like a monstrous tide the big man rose to his feet. Hoss waited for Joe to throw another punch and then caught his arms and lifted him up and spun him around and pinned him to his chest. Joe began to thrash, doing everything he could to get away. The folks in the saloon who knew them best and had seen them spar since they were little boys, began to laugh affectionately. 'Course there were a few others laughing as well who were just plain being cruel.

When the sound reached Joe's ears he went quiet as death.

"Come on, Joe. Let's get you out of here. Why don't we go up and see if the Doc is done with Miss Phoebe?"

Joe said nothing when he released him, he just stood there swaying.

Hoss started for the stair. "You comin', Joe?"

It was almost as if his brother had to pull himself back from somewhere. Joe blinked and nodded and then followed him like a lost puppy. When they got to the top of the staircase Joe dropped into a chair at the end of the poorly lit hall and stayed there while he went to knock on the door.

Doc Martin opened it. "Oh, Hoss. It's good to see you. Is Joe – "

He nodded to where his brother sat down the hall in the darkness. "Joe insisted on seein' Miss Phoebe."

The older man lowered his voice. "Looks like I've got two patients here."

"How bad is the little gal?"

The doctor glanced back into the room. "It's bad, but it could have been worse. She's in a lot of pain. I've given her a dose of laudanum. She'll sleep soon."

"Who in _Tarnation_ would do such a thing?" he sighed.

Doc Martin was silent a moment. "Does it remind you of anything – or anyone else?"

The big man frowned. Then his eyes shot to this brother. "You ain't thinkin'?

"To be honest, Hoss, I don't know _what_ I'm thinking. A bully is a bully. And someone who wants to inflict pain as a method of control probably doesn't care if it's a man or a woman he does it to." The doctor stepped out of the doorway. "Their injuries are very similar. That said, I don't know anything for sure. We may know more when Phoebe talks."

He nodded. "That's why we're here. The sheriff done come out and told us."

The older man thought a minute. "What was the ruckus I heard a while back?"

"That was just Joe blowin' off steam." Hoss took hold of his jaw and worked it from side to side. "Little brother walloped me good."

"There's some bruising," the doctor said. "I can give you some ointment for that."

"Pshaw. It ain't nothin', Doc," he answered, wincing a bit. "Me and my chin are well acquainted with Joe's fist."

"Whatever you say." Doc Martin paused. "Do you think your brother is up to seeing Phoebe? She's awake."

Hoss stewed for a minute. "Well, he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer when Pa said he shouldn't come. Why don't you go ask him?" The big man grinned. "I don't think little brother will take a swing at _you!"_

He watched as the doctor moved down the hall and stopped in front of Joe. In spite of his brother's protests, the Doc bent and examined his neck and shoulder. The bruises there were nearly gone.

Sad to say the ones on Joe' soul seemed more lasting.

A moment later Joe brushed past him. His brother paused outside the door to glance at him and then, in little brother fashion, nodded with just a hint of a wink and went inside.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe paused just inside the door of Phoebe's room. It was still and dark, lit only by the light spilling in through the window and one small oil lamp on the bedside table. Into the stillness came the sound of someone drawing painful, ragged breaths. He'd been there not that long ago and the sound – like the trip to town – brought back a wagonload of painful memories he'd really rather not deal with.

Still, he couldn't let Phoebe down. She'd been...

She meant too much to him.

Glancing back, Joe saw Hoss and Doc Martin quietly conversing in the hall. He was sure it was about him and that made his temper flare again, but he beat it down. It didn't matter. _All_ that mattered was the woman who had devoted herself to taking care of him who was lying in the bed working hard to breathe.

It was funny. He'd seen Phoebe first a year or so back, shortly after she began to work the floor at the Bucket. There had been something about her. She didn't look like the other saloon girls who were pretty but hard as diamonds. Phoebe was pretty all right, with that curly golden-red hair, those sapphire blue eyes and peach pink skin, with her tiny waist, long slender legs and tight little breasts, but there was something more – something that told him, in spite of the front she put on, that the redhead didn't belong in a place like this, selling herself to men to bring them a few minutes of pleasure. He'd struck up a conversation with her and she'd flirted and worked him like anyone else, trying to get him to buy her drinks or take her upstairs. It became a practice with them. He'd show up, she'd do the routine, he'd buy her a drink and give her a kiss, and that was that.

Then, a month or so back, things had changed. She'd grown, well, kind of desperate. That night – the night _it_ happened – she'd hung on him and pressed into him like the other girls – like she was on some kind of an edge and if she went over it, she knew she'd never come back.

He'd wanted to take her away from it all that night. He had to admit it. He loved Phoebe.

Just not in the way she wanted.

A little moan told him she was awake. Joe steeled himself before turning to look at her, knowing what he found would be far different from the picture in his mind. As he took her hand she turned her head away, sensing someone was there but, probably, not knowing it was him. Reaching out, he ever so gently caught her chin with his fingers and turned her head back.

What he saw took his breath away.

There were deep bruises on her neck and exposed shoulder, just like there had been on his. She's been struck across the face, hard, and more than one time. One eye was swollen shut and both of her cheeks showed deep bruising, the skin pushing up under her eyes.

Joe drew a steadying breath as a violent torrent of emotion worked to sweep him away. "Phoebe, it's Joe. Joe Cartwright. You don't have to hide from me. There isn't anything that could make you any less beautiful to me."

Her black eyelashes fluttered against those swollen cheeks. Slowly, Phoebe's eyes opened, but they were without focus. She couldn't see him. He remembered that too. After the beating he had taken, everything had been a blur.

"I'm here." Joe squeezed her hand as he ran his own across her soft golden-red hair. "I'm gonna take care of you just like you took care of me."

Phoebe shifted and grew agitated. She muttered something that sound like "No."

"Hey. What do you mean 'no'?" he asked, a smile in his voice that was not reflected on his face. "I figure I owe you at least two weeks of good nursing."

The redhead moaned again. A single tear ran down her cheek. Again, she said, "No."

He could tell from where his fingers gripped her wrist that her heart had begun to race. Phoebe moaned another time and her breath became fast and shallow as if, within whatever nightmare world she occupied, she was fighting for her life.

Fear _for_ her made him rise. "I'll go get Doc Martin."

The redhead's fingers clutched his, refusing to let go. Joe halted and looked at her. "Phoebe?"

Her eyes opened and shut. Once. Twice. This time when she looked at him, she _saw_ him.  
"Joe..."

He returned to sitting on the bed. "Yeah, it's me. How are you – "

"No...time. Get out...of town." She drew a shuddering breath. "Vickery..."

Joe leaned in. "Phoebe. Who's Vickery?"

She shifted uneasily. "Did...this..."

Vickery must be someone from Phoebe's past. Maybe the rich man she'd mentioned running from. Joe's rising rage galvanized him.

He'd _kill_ him for what he'd done to her.

"Can you tell me Vickery's first name?"

Her head slowly lolled from one side to the other. "Don't..."

"Phoebe, you gotta tell me! He's gotta pay!"

"Young man, what are you doing?" a voice asked.

Joe pivoted to find Doc Martin standing in the open doorway. He swallowed hard. "Hi, Doc."

The older man frowned. "I can imagine what you are feeling, Joe, but now is not the time to press for answers. Phoebe needs her rest, just like you do. Whatever you have to say can wait."

He knew the Doc was right. But it was _so_ important.

"Nothing is more important than her recovery," the older man finished, as if he had read his mind. "Hoss is waiting for you outside."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He'd never seen his little brother's jaw set so firmly. Sitting on his horse, as they headed back to the Ponderosa, Joe might as well have been an arrow set to the bowstring waiting to fly. He tried talking to him, but Joe's teeth was gritted so hard there weren't no room for words. When they got back to the ranch house, Joe took the reins of both their horses and said he'd stable them. When he offered to help him, he said plain and blunt that he wanted to be left alone.

Hoss sighed. He just didn't have any energy left to argue.

After entering the house and hanging his hat on the rack by the door, the big man turned to find their father rising from one of the chairs by the fire. He knew what the first question would be.

"Where's Joseph?"

He pointed over his shoulder. "He's out in the stable, Pa, bedding down Chubb and Cochise." The older man's expression questioned the wisdom of leaving his little brother alone. "Pa, I know what you're gonna say, but sometimes a man just needs a minute to hisself."

"I am concerned that you brother will use that minute to climb right _back_ up onto Cochise and ride off hell-bent for leather toward some new trouble."

Hoss nodded. "And well he may, Pa. Maybe Joe needs that too."

"Maybe?" his father sighed. "I'll remind you of that when _you_ have sons and see if you still consider it wisdom." The older man stretched and headed for the dining room table. A pot of coffee remained on the checked tablecloth. His father felt the outside of the graniteware pot to see if it was still hot and then poured himself a cup. "Tell me," he said after taking a sip, "how _is_ Phoebe?"

Hoss went to the hearth and took a seat on the edge of it, relishing the warmth. With the night, the air had grown chill again. "She's right bad off, Pa, but I talked to the Doc and he thinks she's gonna be all right. She's gonna need lookin' after, though, for some time."

"When the girl is well enough we'll bring her back here. It's the least we can do to thank her for all she did for Joe."

Hoss hung his hands between his knees. "I think that's why Joe's out in the stable, Pa. He was right upset when he came out from seein' her. Didn't say nary a word on the way home. I think he's...composin' hisself."

Ben nodded, thoughtful. He returned to his chair and, after taking a few sips, said, "Was Phoebe able to tell Roy anything?"

The big man shook his head. "Joe's the first one she talked to."

"There is a special bond between them now. One that will always remain no matter where life takes them."

"You think he's sweet on her?"

"Joseph? When is he _not_ sweet on a girl?" The older man's laugh was gentle. "I have no idea. Time will tell."

Hoss paused. "How do you suppose a kind little gal like her ended up in the Bucket of Blood doing...what she does."

"I'm sure it was a matter of circumstances – a hard life, missed opportunities, bad choices, or maybe, no choices at all." His father put his cup down. "There was a man in her past, an older man that she got involved with. It ended badly."

"Oh."

Hoss heard the sound of the door opening behind him. He didn't need to look. The visible relief that flooded through his father's frame told him who it was.

The older man rose. "Joe. How are you, son?"

The big man winced, waiting for the explosion.

Joe's voice had a ragged edge. "I'm tired, Pa. _Really_ tired."

Hoss looked at him and saw it. Joe's coloring was off. He was all sort of gray like a thing seen through a mist. His brother's usually straight shoulders were slumped. He had stopped by the sideboard and had one hand on it, propping himself up.

In two seconds their father was by his side. He caught Joe's arm and said, "You're pushing yourself too hard, son. You know what Paul said, too much too quickly and you will be back in a sick bed. I'm sure you don't want that."

Joe looked up with that echo of his usual smile, which was all they seemed to get these days. "No, Pa. I _don't_ want that."

"Have you had any food?"

Joe shook his head.

Turning to him, their father said, "Hoss, you take Joe up to bed. I'll see what Hop Sing can rustle up in the kitchen and come up shortly with a tray."

"Ah, Pa," Joe moaned, "you don't need to fuss..."

"It's not fussing, son," the older man said softly, "it's _loving._ Now, can you stand on your own?"

Hoss was there in an instant. Joe didn't fight as he took his father's place and caught his arm. "I got him, Pa."

His little brother scowled. "You two act like I'm gonna..." Joe closed his eyes and shook himself. Then he slipped under his hand.

"You are _'gonna'_ , little brother if'n you don't get to bed!" Hoss put his arm around his brother's waist and directed him toward the stair. When they got to his room he sat Joe on the end of his bed and began to undress him, removing his boots and helping him out of his gray coat.

As he started to unbutton Joe's shirt, his brother caught his hand. Shyly, almost sheepishly, he asked him a question.

"Hoss, will you do something for me?"

"Anything, little brother," he said as he pulled Joe's arm out of the sleeve.

"I need you to ask around. See if anybody's ever heard of a man who goes by the name of Vickery."

His other arm was out. "What for?"

One side of Joe's mouth turned up. "For me?"

Crossing the room, Hoss went to retrieve Joe's nightshirt. "I'm gonna need a little more than that, Joe. Right now I ain't so sure you're thinkin' straight."

His baby brother was silent a moment. "Phoebe mentioned him."

Hoss closed the drawer and turned back. For just a moment – looking at his little brother sitting there on the edge of the bed, with his feet dangling and that tousled brown head hanging down to his chest like he'd just been through a whipping – he saw not the man, but the little boy. The little boy he had a danged hard time saying 'no' too.

After drawing a breath and letting it out slowly, he crossed back to Joe and held the nightshirt out. "I think I should go to Roy."

"Hoss, there isn't anything to _go_ to Roy about, at least not yet," Joe protested. "Just a name."

"You think Vickery's the man what done beat Phoebe up?"

Joe shrugged. "Like I said, it's just a name."

The big man contemplated the request. With another sigh, he said, "All right. I'll ask around." He pointed a finger at his brother's chest. "But if'n we find out anything, we go to Roy about it – deal?"

Joe yawned mightily. He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing those brown curls, and then nodded. "Sure."

"You mean it, Joe? You ain't gonna go off half-cocked?"

His shirtless brother pitched over onto his pillows. "I ain't going off anywhere..."

Hoss picked up the nightshirt. He caught his shoulder. "Joe, here, you gotta..."

Too late. He was already asleep.

With a shake of his head the big man took hold of the covers that were free and pulled them up and over his brother's sleeping form. He crossed the room then and found two more and laid them on top of him, making up for the ones that were trapped beneath. Joe was sure a handful – bullheaded and bound for trouble – but he was the little brother that he loved and he weren't going to let no one do what they had done to him and get away with it.

What was done to him that sure enough looked a _powerful_ lot like what was done to Miss Phoebe.

"Vickery, eh? Sure, Joe, I'll find out where Vickery is." A determined look on his face, the big man finished, "But that don't mean I'm gonna tell _you_."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

TWELVE

The man was tall, with dark brown hair turning to silver at the temples and cold, piercing gray eyes. He wore his expensive suit and arrogant attitude like he'd bought them together. He wasn't fifty, but he hadn't quite made it to sixty, and his life had been spent out-fighting, out-doing, conquering, controlling, and – with a great amount of satisfaction - _destroying_ others. He occupied the shadows of the hotel porch at the moment and stared at the doors of the Virginia City saloon with the apropos name of 'The Bucket of Blood'. It was late in the day, near sundown, and it had turned out to be another bitter one, with a slicing wind that carried with it a hint of the winter storms to come. The man's lip curled as another man raced by, hat held down and collar pulled up against the chill. _He_ wasn't wearing a coat.

Griggs Vickery didn't feel a thing.

Vickery shifted and straightened up. He took a step to his right and looked past the post at the saloon doors. Business was picking up. It was the end of the day and what was more, the end of the week, and all of the ranch hands, miners, and cattle drivers in the area would have their pay in their pockets and trouble in mind when they rode into town. He'd watched one particular man go into the establishment about a half an hour earlier. Hoss Cartwright was a big man, with sandy blond hair that was thinning on top, and the muscles of an ox. Vickery sneered. That was one he would like to take on himself. Power over such a man would increase his quota.

He'd never figure a man like the one he had taken under his wing that went for the 'pretty' boys.

His friend's 'bent' was different from his own. _His_ tastes ran to boys, while Griggs Vickery was all man and his only interest was in beautiful women.

 _One_ beautiful woman in particular.

Another man passed with his wife. He was a sociable fellow who dipped his hat to acknowledge his presence as they met eye to eye.

Worms. All of them. _Worms._

Not even worth a smile.

Vickery stepped of the hotel porch and headed for The Bucket of Blood. His friend was supposed to meet him there in about an hour. It was not to talk. _He_ didn't talk. He _told_ and the other man did exactly what he said or he would beat him and leave him broken like he had that whore and the boy. He would leave them to die in the dust.

Griggs snorted. Now _that_ was what he called being 'sociable'.

In the meantime, as he waited for the other man, he would keep an eye on this big Cartwright fellow and listen in if he talked to anyone in the saloon. There was no knowing what Phoebe would say. He'd told her that night when she'd been laying on the carpet and he had looked down his bloody fist at her, that he would come back and finish the job if she said _anything_ to anyone – and he'd make it long and tortuous if it was the Cartwright kid. Griggs closed his eyes, imagining the two of them together, seeing their bodies entwined up in that room in the bed that should have been _his._

Vickery laughed, long and low and mean.

Well, he'd fixed that kid. No woman would want him after word of what happened got around and _he'd_ see that it did.

Oh, yes, he'd see that it did.

Griggs Vickery halted outside the saloon doors to feed on the noise and clamor within. Deep down inside him there was something that was never satisfied. It fed on chaos, and so chaos was what he created everywhere he went.

It was time to generate more.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss had been circulating around the Bucket, twisting arms and asking questions no one seemed to want to answer. He noticed whenever he left, people fell to talking quiet-like behind his back. 'Course, that was nothing new. The Cartwrights were always a topic of conversation. Folks either loved them or hated them. The problem was, he was worried that what they was talking about was not _the_ Cartwrights, but one _particular_ Cartwright. He'd caught a snatch here and there. He wasn't sure but it seemed someone was talking about Joe, hinting at what had happened, and making it sound like it was his fault.

If he ever caught one of them at it, he'd break them in two.

So far no one knew who this man named Vickery was. One of the saloon gals – one shy of pretty by a few years – told him she'd heard the name but couldn't remember where. He'd asked her if it had come from Phoebe and she'd admitted that it might of, but that was all he'd got. He'd waited up for Adam the night before and when their older brother came in, told him about Joe's request. Adam wasn't a man to say much, but the way his lips tightened and the steely look that entered his eyes was enough to tell him he felt the same as he did. Once they got back from church and their pa had taken off for a neighbor's house to do some helpful chores, carting a sullen Little Joe with him, they'd mounted their horses and ridden together to town.

Sidling up to the bar, the big man ordered a drink. When he had it in hand, Hoss swung around to watch the door. The trade was picking up, bringing in working men of every kind. There were a few too that looked like they might not know what hard work was. One of them was a tall man dressed in a fancy vest and pure white shirt over a pair of black trousers, with brown hair turning gray and a highfaluting attitude that put him in mind of a thoroughbred in a stall of mules.

Behind the man was Adam.

When his brother saw him, he inclined his head and then moved through the crowd to his side. "Let's get a table in the back," Adam said.

"Sounds good to me. What're you drinking?"

Adam 's lips pressed tightly together – a sure sign of something being up. "Double whiskey. Straight up."

In other words, _nitro._

Hoss waited on the whiskey and then took it and another beer for himself to the table in the far corner where Adam had settled. His brother had tossed his hat on the table and anchored his spurs on one of the beaten chairs beneath it. His brother said nothing as he sat down. Adam's eyes were narrowed as he looked out on the flotsam and jetsam floating through the Bucket.

"What's troubling you, Adam?"

"Other than the general run of humanity?" his older brother snorted as he reached for the whiskey.

"Who you been talking to?"

"Derelicts. Stable hands. Back alley brawlers." Adam took a sip. He didn't kick his foot in reaction to it, but his eyebrows did a dance. " _Good_ whiskey. Unusual for this place."

"How come you was talking to the likes of them?"

Adam shrugged. "When you're looking for scum, you talk to scum."

"Vickery? You find out somethin' about him?"

Adam took another savoring sip. "First you."

Hoss shook his head. "One of the gals here heard about him, most likely from Phoebe."

A dark light entered his brother's eyes. "How is she?"

"Doc says she'll be all right, but it will take more time than it took with Joe for her to get well."

"Pa told me last night he wants her to come back to the Ponderosa."

"That's right." Hoss took another swig. "He thinks it will be good for her, and Little Joe too."

"I can see that. It would give Joe someone to think about other than himself."

"And keep him from lookin' for this here Vickery?"

Adam downed half the whiskey remaining in the glass. "That too."

Hoss couldn't wait any longer. "So what did you find out?"

Adam's fingers turned the glass on the top of the battered table. "I found out his name is Griggs Vickery and that he's been seen in Virginia City. I also got a vague description of him – about sixty, tall, mean looking, with grayish hair. He stabled his horse at the livery two nights back."

"The night Miss Phoebe was hurt."

"Uh-huh."

"Anything else?"

Adam leaned back. "Yes, and it disturbs me."

"What is it, Adam?"

"Vickery has been seen in the company of Jude Lowery."

Hoss blinked. "Jude? You ain't _kiddin'_ me?"

"Nope."

The big man's sandy eyebrows met in the middle. "You think this here Griggs Vickery had anything to do with what happened to Joe?"

"It's hard to say. Obviously, if Vickery is the one who attacked Phoebe, then he's interested in women. Still," Adam emptied the glass, "power is power and its always been said that men who do these things do it because they want to dominate and control the one they attack."

"You sound like you heard of this before," Hoss said with a frown.

Adam shrugged. "Pa had the sea. I went to college."

"Makes me feel a mite stupid, if you know what I mean."

"You and Joe aren't stupid, Hoss, you're...lucky. Living on the Ponderosa, with Pa's iron grip on it and your lives, has kept you protected from many things. Don't think you need to join the club."

He thought about it a moment. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Though me and...Joe, we ain't so lucky no more." The big man gestured to one of the girls walking by, asking for another beer. "So what are we gonna do now?"

"Make sure we find this Vickery before baby brother does."

"That ain't gonna be easy. We cain't watch Joe every minute of the day and night. Once he gets wind that this here man's been seen in Virginia City – "

"Then we'll just have to make certain Joe _doesn't_ get wind of it."

"How we gonna do that? You know Joe. He ain't gonna stay put less we hog-tie him."

Adam's shrugged. "It's a thought."

They both laughed.

"I think we need to tell Pa what's going on and then get Phoebe to the house," Adam said. "It will be best for her _and_ Joe. You know little brother, he feels things deeply. He has quite an obligation to that young lady. That should keep him housebound for at least a few days."

"What if she talks to him and tells him more?"

" _That_ could be a problem. Let's hope Phoebe's recovered enough that we can talk to her and ask her to give us some time before she does. Maybe she can tell _us_ more instead of Joe."

Hoss thought it over. It could work and probably _would_ work if baby brother wasn't so gosh-darned unpredictable.

"What if Joe finds out anyway?"

"There's always locking him in his room. " Adam sighed as he stood. "Now come on, let's go talk to Doc Martin and see if Phoebe is well enough to be moved."

Since they were at the back of the Bucket, getting out was like swimming upstream against a strong current. Night had fallen and the place was roaring like a lion on a chain. As Adam was smaller than him, he managed to ford the stream a mite more gracefully. No matter how hard he tried _he_ kept jostling elbows and stepping on toes. As they neared the door he downright nearly ran into the tall man in the vest.

"Sorry, Mister," Hoss apologized while tipping his hat.

"No offense meant and none taken," the man replied, his voice slick as a mirror.

"If'n I was you, I'd watch myself in there. Ain't been no fights yet, and I ain't never seen a Sunday night pass by without one."

"Thank you for the advice, friend, but no need to worry," the man replied as he took a step forward. "I can take care of myself."

With that, he was gone.

As Hoss stepped out the door he took a deep breath of the air. It was scented with grass and pine and dirt and had nothing in it of whiskey, sweat, and smoke. He couldn't understand why anyone would choose to live in a big city surrounded by tall buildings and men, with only a choked vision of the sky, when they could have _this._ Couldn't understand it at all. But then, that was why he liked to spend time with the animals and often walked alone under the stars. He had a feeling for people, but there was also times when he just had to leave them behind. His pa said he was feeding the coal furnace, building up steam that would carry him through until he had to stop again and breathe in new life.

He liked that.

"Hoss, the Doc's in," Adam said. "I can see a light in the office. Are you coming?"

The big man took one more look at the sky, letting it put his troubles into perspective.

"On my way."

Ben Cartwright closed the door on the guest bedroom downstairs with care. Phoebe had arrived, courtesy of Doc Martin and his two older sons and he had just settled her into her room. As he moved away, he mused on the curves life could throw you. When he'd ridden away a few weeks before, how could he have possible conceived of what would happen to his son, to their family? And now, looking at the pitiful wreck of the young woman who had given that son so much, it struck him again. He'd lived a long life and seen a lot of sorrow and somehow had managed to hold onto his faith in man. The terror that had come upon them was testing it.

If he hadn't sent Phoebe back to that dreadful place, even for a few days...

"Pa?"

Joseph was seated in the Great Room. It was another chilly day. The morning had brought a dusting of snow, and winter was on its way. His son was bundled in a blanket and seated by the fire. It seemed that Joe just couldn't get warm. He'd been asleep when Adam and Hoss arrived with Phoebe in the back of a hired wagon. A few minutes running about had prepared her room and wakened his youngest. Joe dressed and descended and then stood by while Adam carried the girl in and placed her in her bed. He sent Joe to have Hop Sing prepare the medicine the doctor had prescribed while they got her settled. After that, he had expected Joe to follow him in.

He hadn't.

"Yes, son?" he replied.

"How is Phoebe doing?"

He crossed over to him. "Why don't you go in and see for yourself?"

"I will, Pa," Joe said in a small voice. "Soon."

"What is it, Joe?"

His boy was looking at his hands. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. "Do you think... Pa, do you think this is because of me?"

Ben frowned, surprised by the leap. "No, Joe. This has to do with Phoebe's past. Why would you think that?"

"It's something she said once while she was taking care of me."

Ben sat on the settee table close to his son. "And what was that?"

"About a man who wanted to own her, who was so jealous he said he'd...destroy her if she looked at any other man." Joe's voice was hollow. "What if he found out how she feels about me?"

"Then you know?"

"That she's in love with me?" He nodded.

"Are you in love with her?"

His son frowned. "Right now, Pa, I don't know how I feel about much of anything," Joe answered honestly, his voice ragged. "There's times when I feel like taking everything I can get my hands on and breaking it, and other times when I want to scream and never stop. And then there's the times that...scare me."

"When is that, Joseph?" he asked quietly.

"When _I_ want to stop."

Ben studied his son. Joe was better, but he had a long way to go. Rising, he went to his side and sat down on the hearth. He placed his hand on his leg and said simply, "Tell me."

Joe drew a shuddering breath. "I don't know if I can, Pa."

"Try."

The boy thought a moment. "It's like...well...if I don't keep on fanning the flames – keep pushing and fighting and _raising Cain_ – the fire will go out. There's moments when that darkness looks good, when I want to sink into it and sleep and – never wake up."

"We all have times like that, Joseph. It's part of being human."

He didn't look up. "Pa, did you ever think about...letting the fire go out?"

Ben tried to hide the fact that he was scared. "No, Joe. I never did." He drew a breath. "Have you?"

His son nodded, reluctantly. After a second Joe reached under the blanket and into the pocket of his shirt and produced a small bottle. It took Ben a moment to recognize it for what it was. When he did, it took the breath from him.

"The night, Pa, after Adam and I got back from Pointer's Arch... After I remembered _what_..." Joe drew a deep breath. "I found it on the stand by the bed. It's – "

How could he have been so foolish as to overlook it? "The laudanum Doc Martin left for you."

Joe glanced at him, his green eyes sad and soulful and shamed. "I thought about drinking all of it, Pa. I really did."

"But you didn't," he said immediately. _Thank God!_

"I knew I was feeling sorry for myself and, you know me, Pa, if there's anything I _hate_ it's someone doing that. I don't know how many friends I've called cowards for doing so." Joe's lips curled with chagrin. "I guess I need to apologize to them. I just... Well, I didn't think there was anything could happen to me that I couldn't fight my way out of."

He squeezed his son's shoulder. "You can win this fight too, Joseph. I believe in you."

"I hope so."

"I _know_ so, son. One thing that will help you is to remember that you are not the only one who has suffered." He gestured toward the guest room. "That young girl needs your help, just like you needed hers. In a way, I think it's something _only_ you can do."

Joe hesitated only a moment. "You're right, Pa. I'll go in and see Phoebe."

As his son started across the room, Ben called him back. "Joseph."

"Yeah, Pa."

He held his hand out. "The bottle."

Joe was still holding it. He looked at it and then at him. "I'd like to keep it, Pa." When he saw his frown, he added, "It's one victory in all of this."

Ben went to him and closed his son's hand over the bottle. "Yes. Yes it, is. And it will lead to others, Joseph. You'll see."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright had gone to the ranch where Jude Lowery was employed. He was told that Jude was in Virginia City so he had ridden back out, dismounted, and settled in to wait a little ways down the road toward town. As it was cold, he lit a fire and had a pot of steaming coffee ready as well as a pot of stew.

There was nothing like coffee and the offer of a warm meal to encourage a man riding on a cold night to let down his guard.

It was about an hour later that Jude appeared, riding slowly toward the ranch. Adam remained seated on the ground, not wanting to appear anxious, and pretended not to notice until the other man was nearly on top of him.

Affecting amazement, the man in black rose to his feet. "Jude Lowery, what are you doing out on a night like this?"

"Must be stupid as you, Adam," Jude said, shaking his hand. "How come you're camped here?"

"Pa sent me to talk to the man at the ranch south of yours. You know, the one where Bexley works. I got this far and decided it was time to thaw." He indicated the food and drink. "Would you like to join me?"

Jude hesitated. "I don't know. I should be gettin' back."

"Maybe just coffee then?"

The other man shivered and hunched up his shoulders as he dismounted. "Well, I guess so. It sure is cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here."

"Looks like we're in for a harsh winter, that's for certain," Adam agreed, holding out a steaming cup.

"Sure does." Jude took a sip, obviously savoring the warmth sliding down him as he took a seat on a flat-topped rock. "That's good. Thanks. Did you see Beck?"

"No. He's out on the drive with most of Hansford's men."

"Right. I forgot about that."

Since they were close to one another, Adam took a moment to examine the other man. What he found surprised him. "Say, what happened to you?"

Lowery looked puzzled.

Adam pointed toward his own eye. "The shiner."

Jude reached up. "That? It's nothin'. Me and Beck went at it afore he left. We had a little...disagreement."

"Well, I certainly know all about disagreements between men and how they're settled," Adam laughed. "What were you doing in town anyway, Jude?" he asked as casually as he could.

"Nothing important. Picking up supplies."

"Hoss and I were there around supper time. Surprising we didn't see you."

"It's a big town."

"Yes, it is."

Adam sipped his coffee and let the silence do the talking for him. It wasn't long before Jude began to shift uncomfortably. A moment later he asked, "How's Joe?"

"Better." That was about as non-committal as you could get.

"It's a terrible thing that happened to him."

"You mean the beating?"

Jude's eyes shot to his face as if looking to read it. "What _else_ would I mean?"

Did he sense something in the other man's tone?

"Well, you could have been talking about the robbery."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. I forgot about that. Has the sheriff got any leads on either one?"

 _Interesting._ "Do you think they might have been individual crimes committed by, maybe, more than one man?"

"Say, what is this Adam? Did you come out here to grill me?"

"No." Adam reached out and took hold of the pot and poured another cup. "It's just I heard some rumors in the town."

It was hard to tell, but he thought Jude paled. "About what?"

"About a man named Griggs Vickery. You ever hear of him?"

Jude's frown deepened. "That's a funny sort of name."

"Well, he's not a funny sort of guy. Seems he likes to beat people up."

"You think he beat Joe?"

Adam shrugged. "That's what I'm trying to find out." He took another sip and then cast the rest of the liquid aside. Then he looked straight at the other man. "Do you know anything about it Jude?"

"Me? Why would I?"

"Because the man at the livery stable said he'd seen you and Vickery together."

Jude jumped to his feet. "I don't have to listen to this."

"No, you don't, but if you leave – and leave in a hurry – I'm going to think that I was right about you and you _did_ have something to do with what happened to Joe." Adam rose to his feet. His tone darkened. "And hear me, Jude, if I do – _if I do_ find that out, then there is nothing in Heaven or Hell or anywhere in-between that will keep me from finding you and snapping your neck."

Jude Lowery's reaction was telling. He'd seen it happen in animals and in more than a few men. One second they were cowering in a corner, all doe-eyed and frightened, and the next, they'd bared their teeth, ready for a fight.

"You just go ahead and do that, Cartwright," Lowery spat. "Then, when you're dangling from the end of a rope for murder, that high-and-mighty father of yours will realize that money can't buy everything."

"Oh, it won't be murder," Adam responded as cool as the other man was hot. "It will be _justice."_

Jude started to snap back, but seemed to think better of it. He drew a breath and let it out like steam released from a pot about to explode. "Adam, Little Joe... Well, I like him a lot. Why would I do anything to hurt him?

He didn't know. It _didn't_ make sense. But then again, nothing that had happened since that night made sense.

"For the moment I'll take you at your word, Jude. But if I find out you've lied to me and you _do_ know this man Vickery and have any idea of what happened to Joe, I _will_ hunt you down. Do you understand me?"

The other Jude surfaced again, so quickly it startled him. Lowery's blue eyes grew cold and his lip curled in a sneer.

"Happy huntin', Cartwright."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe jolted awake when he heard his name called. He blinked away the sleep that he didn't know he was getting and looked around. For a moment he was confused. He thought he was in his bed in his own room. Then, slowly, he recognized the trappings of the guest room and knew he had fallen asleep in the chair beside Phoebe's.

Her hand was reaching for him. "Little Joe..."

Leaning forward, he caught her small soft fingers in his own. "I'm here, Phoebe."

She blinked and a tear fell.

He wanted to wipe it away, but was afraid he would hurt her if he did. Her face was swollen just like his had been and, like his, marked with the crimson print of the back of a man's hand. His pa had told him once that it said in the Bible God put your tears in a bottle they were so precious to Him. Phoebe's tears were precious.

 _Phoebe_ was precious.

"Hey," he said, reaching out and gently brushing the golden-red curls back from her forehead instead. "It's great to see those pretty blue eye wide open."

She raised her other hand. With it, she touched his cheek. "You're...all right..."

"I'm fine," he said, hoping God would know the heart behind the lie. "How are you?"

She shifted and winced. "I've...been better." Without moving, she looked around. "I'm...at the...Ponderosa?"

"Yeah, and we expect you up and raring to cook that grub in a few days."

Her lips curled in a tiny smile. "Obviously you've...never tasted...my cooking."

Joe laughed but sobered quickly when she moaned again. His grip tightened on her fingers. "I know," he said softly, "you _know_ that I know. Phoebe?"

She didn't look at him. "Um-hm?"

"Can I ask you a question, or are you too tired?"

Her eyes sought his face. He read fear in them. "About...Vickery?"

He didn't know why, but just the name chilled him. Joe nodded. "Yes."

"If...you promise..." she replied.

"Promise what?"

Another tear slid down her cheek. "Not to go...after him...alone."

His jaw tightened. "Then Vickery _did_ this to you? Why, Phoebe? _Why?_ Was it..." He drew a breath. "Was it because of me?"

She answered 'no', but he knew she was lying.

"Who is Vickery, Phoebe? The man you told pa and me about before?"

"A...mistake." The redhead drew a breath and shuddered. "Made...long ago."

"That's why you came here to Virginia City? To get away from him?"

She nodded.

Joe squeezed her hand. "Phoebe, you gotta tell me _more_. Tell me what he looks like so I can find him and make him pay for what he did to you."

"Us," she said softly.

Joe frowned. "Us?"

"Griggs wanted...to...send you..a message. Stay...away from...me. Wanted to...ruin you."

He felt his face flush red clean up to his ears. "Vickery did... _that_ to me?"

She nodded and then, shook her head. "Yes. _No_... Someone else..."

He gripped her hand so hard the redhead made a tiny little sound of discomfort. "Who? Phoebe, _who?"_

She turned her face away. "I...don't know."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was the middle of the night. Adam was still out, though Hoss had returned and after checking on their guest and his little brother – who he said was sound asleep in the chair by Phoebe's bed – had gone up to his room. Ben sat for a while reading and then followed his middle son upstairs. The evening's events had been chilling – seeing Phoebe as she was, talking to Joe. He couldn't help but kick himself for not taking the bottle of laudanum away from his wounded son and for more than one reason. Of course, he was worried Joe would falter, that in some dark pit where his son found himself its promised release might prove too much of a temptation in spite of what he said.

It also meant there was no way on God's earth he was going to find anything coming _close_ to a peaceful rest for any time to come.

The silver-haired man had just lit the oil lamp in his room and reached for a book when he heard a noise downstairs. Pulling on his robe, Ben opened the door and headed for the steps. Most likely it was Adam coming in late. Surprisingly, when he reached the bottom of the steps he found the house completely dark. If it was Adam, surely he would have lit a lamp, or he would have passed him on the stairs as his eldest headed straight for bed.

Puzzled the older man crossed to the table by the settee and felt for the light. Striking a match, he lit it and turned the thumb wheel so its soft golden glow filled the room.

Illuminating a still small form on the floor.

"Phoebe!"

Ben crossed to the young woman and knelt beside her, lifting her up and into his arms where he cradled her like a child. The redhead's face shone with tears.

As her fingers brushed his face, she asked, "Ben?"

He caught them in his own. "Yes, Phoebe. What are you doing out of bed? You may have injured yourself."

"Had to...tell you. Little Joe..."

His heart skipped a beat. "What about Joe?"

She shuddered and curled up tightly against him like a lost and frightened child.

"He's ...gone after...Vickery."


	7. Part Seven

THIRTEEN

Jude Lowery rode like the wind.

He was headed back to town, back to find Griggs Vickery and warn him that Adam Cartwright knew. He wasn't sure just what all Adam _did_ know, but it was clear that he had made the connection between the two of them and what happened that night at Pointer's Arch. Before he'd snapped, the words had been there on the edge of his tongue. He'd wanted to make Joe's brother understand _why_ he'd done what he'd done. But Adam was angry and angry men didn't listen to reason.

Jude touched his cheek where Vickery's fist had left its mark.

He knew all about that.

They'd been together, him and Griggs, since the near the day his mother and father abandoned him. He'd come home that day after school and found them gone – no note, no nothing. To this day he didn't know if they'd been kidnapped, died, or simply run away. Neither of them had wanted a child and they had married only because he was on the way. There had never been a drop of love in their house.

He hadn't known about love until Griggs.

After his parents left he had to eat somehow, and so he had gone to a nearby town to look for work. At ten years old he knew it wasn't going to be the easiest thing to find, but finally the man at the livery had taken him in and given him work and a warm place in the loft to bed down. One day a man – tall and good-looking, wearing an expensive suit and a silk top hat set jauntily on his graying brown hair – came to the stable with a fine horse and asked that extra care be given to it. He'd agreed and taking care of Genghis had become his full-time job. The man who owned the horse was, of course, Griggs Vickery. Griggs would come by every night to see him and bring the horse _and_ him food and treats. They talked a lot about their similar childhoods. Griggs had been abandoned as well at a young age, though he'd never told him how or why. They'd both had to choose to survive and it created a kind of bond, more than friendship between them. Soon enough Griggs started to rely on him, to ask him to do things for him. No one had _ever_ wanted him before and so _he_ wanted nothing more than to please the tall man in the suit. Vickery taught him everything he knew – most of all, how to befriend a man and make him trust you, and then use cunning and physical force to get what you wanted.

On the day Griggs Vickery left that town, he went with him.

They traveled and drifted for a while after that. To this day he had no idea where Griggs' money came from, only that he had a lot of it. They'd hit a town, settle down for a while, and then move on. Griggs was always getting into fights. He'd come back to their room with his knuckles bloodied and his face twisted from being beaten, with a look in his eyes that shouted that – no matter how bad _he_ looked – the other guy looked _worse_. Jude always offered to tend the older man's wounds, knowing that it would bring them closer.

Yes, Griggs needed _him._

The blond man drew his mount to a stop. He was about an hour outside of town and had decided to let her rest for a few. Slipping from the animal's back, Jude tethered the horse to a tree, removed his canteen from the saddle, and then went to sit under another tree to watch the sun rise.

For the longest time it was just Griggs and him, sort of like father and son. Then, when he was fourteen, things took a turn. He'd realized by that time that he was one of those fellers who didn't like girls. Griggs always had them and all of them were pretty, but he just didn't care. There was this young fellow, also worked at the stable, that he'd taken a shine too. They worked side by side and he kept dropping hints until one day the other boy understood what he wanted. There'd been a fight and during it such a rage had risen up in him – a rage against the losses he had felt, against his lack of a family, against his feelings, which the world called perverted – against everything and _anything,_ that he near beat the boy to death.

Then, he did other things to him.

The thing was, after that, for the first time since he had been that boy who opened the door and found his parents gone, he felt in control. He'd talked it over with Griggs who told him – after what he'd done – that he'd known that first night in the stable that he had what it 'took'. It was all about survival, his friend said.

A man _takes_ what he needs or he dies.

From then on they traveled from town to town staying put until they wore out their welcome or some rumor of their connection to certain events in the area caused them to move on. It would have been the same here in Virginia City if Griggs hadn't found out that the woman he wanted – the redhead that got away – was working at the Bucket of Blood.

Jude capped his canteen and went to his horse. He hung it on the saddle horn and then swung up onto the animal's back. He was sorry now that he had mentioned to Griggs how Phoebe Howath felt about Little Joe Cartwright. He'd watched Joe. The handsomest Cartwright flirted with Phoebe but he never took her upstairs. He wanted Joe to like him, to grow close to him and get to know _him._ Maybe then, he told Griggs, maybe then...

Vickery called him a fool.

Griggs Vickery was like a spotter for the army. He didn't miss anything. He told him he'd never have Joe in _that_ way, and the only way he _could_ have him was to do what he told him to do. Griggs had the whole thing figured out. He'd lay in wait for Little Joe at Pointer's Arch and take him. 'As soon as you can, Jude,' he'd said, 'you follow. I'll be waiting." He'd thought Bexley might have thrown a rock before the wheel by leaving with Joe, but Griggs had taken care of that too. When he got to the Arch a few minutes after Beck and Joe arrived, he found Bexley unconscious on the ground outside the Arch and Joe within with Griggs and his bloody fists standing over him.

'All yours,' Vickery had said when he saw him, using that tone that both pleased and angered him.

Jude Lowery began to ride.

His nostrils still carried the scent of bay rum and spice, and his fingers the memory of that thick brown hair – and his heart gratitude for the gift Griggs had given him.

Jude Lowery put spurs to horse flesh and headed for town.

It was time again to move on.

Jude had no sooner disappeared around a cluster of trees than another rider appeared on the road. He walked, leading his mount instead of riding it, and kept to the side where the shadows were thick. The man went to the rock where Lowery had been sitting and checked for signs on the ground. Rising quickly, he returned to his horse and mounted.

It shouldn't be too hard to follow him. Even at a distance the sound of the Jude's horse's hooves striking the hard earth rang out with the resonance of a church bell on a clear cold night.

Adam Cartwright took a moment to remove the cap of his canteen and take a drink. Then, he took a handful of water and tossed it in his face. The icy chill snapped him to alert. He was tired, physically and emotionally. It had been a long day.

And it wasn't over yet.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Son. Son, you _need_ to wake up!"

The voice was urgent and one he should know. Hoss Cartwright wrinkled up his nose and pried one eye open. There was a man standing beside his bed – a man with near white hair. He should know him too.

A second later he did. "Pa?"

"Hoss, get up and get dressed. We need to ride."

The big man looked at the window. It was still dark, though the first hint of dawn was coloring the sky a pale pink. If they needed to ride now, that meant the need was _big._ Instantly alert, Hoss threw off his covers and tossed his feet over the side of the bed. After a moment of fighting the sickness that came with being suddenly awakened, he stood. The dawning light spilled in his unshuttered window, striking his father's face.

It was cast in fear.

"What is it, Pa?" Hoss said as he began to unbutton his nightshirt in preparation for taking it off.

"Your brother's gone."

" _Which_ brother?" He hadn't seen Adam _or_ Joe when he'd come in. Still, from his father's agitation, he had a pretty good idea which one he meant.

"Adam is not home yet, but it's not your older brother I'm worried about," the silver-haired man said as he headed for the door. "I just found Phoebe nearly senseless on the floor. She was desperate to tell us. Joseph knows about Griggs Vickery and he's gone to find him."

Before he went to bed, he'd told his father what he and Adam had learned about Phoebe's attacker. "How long's Joe been gone?" Hoss asked as he reached for his trousers.

"There's no way of knowing how long it was before Phoebe stumbled out of bed and I found her. I'm praying it's not been _too_ long."

Hoss picked up his shirt and shoved an arm into one sleeve. "Any idea where Joe was headed?"

"Nothing specific. Phoebe thought he would head to town since that's where Vickery is staying." His father paused. His tone reflected his face. "She also said that after he beat her, Vickery threatened to kill Joe."

The big man reached for his coat, which he had slung over a chair the night before. "For gosh sakes, Pa, why? What'd Little Joe ever do to him?"

"'Why', Hoss? For the same reason Cain rose up and killed Abel. Jealousy." His father paused. "Apparently the initial attack on Joseph was done for the same reason. Vickery wanted to hurt Joe for the attentions he was showing Phoebe, and...ruin Joe's reputation."

Bile rose in his throat. "Was Vickery the one what done...?"

"No. Phoebe said he has an accomplice, a man who...likes men. She didn't know who it was."

"In other words," Hoss said as rage replaced queasiness, _"_ whether Vickery did it or not, _he's_ the _one_ responsible. Pa, I'm gonna break him in _two!"_

His father crossed to him and placed his hand on his arm. "Son, I feel the same way, but right now we have to concentrate on finding your brother and stopping Joe before he gets _himself_ killed. Son, are you listening?"

It was hard. Hard to bank the rage. Harder still, to think that the man might slip away from them and _never_ pay for what he done. Hardest of all to surrender to the truth that, no matter how much he wanted to kill Griggs Vickery – if he did – he'd be no better _than_ him.

Hoss nodded. "I'll go saddle the horses," he said.

"Good. I'll wake Hop Sing and tell him he's in charge of Phoebe and the house until we return."

"Pa, you think we ought to try to find Adam?"

The older man was at the door. He turned back. "Yes, we _should_ , but there's no time. Joe's good at finding trouble, but trouble is even _better_ at finding Joe."

Ten minutes later they were on their way.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam followed Jude Lowery into town and watched him enter the stable. Though he didn't know how this man who claimed to be his brother's friend was connected to the one called Vickery, instinct told him he was. When he thought about it, it made sense that the attack on Joe would have been perpetrated by two men instead of one. After all, Bexley Lanahan had been put out of commission at almost the same moment Joe was attacked. Most likely Joe had been restrained by one while the other...

The man in black stopped and reached out and caught hold of one of the hitching rails to steady himself as a rage rose in him like none he had ever known. A rage so deep and _so_ wide, it opened like a chasm before him and dared him to plunge in and lose his way again. He closed his eyes and reached for something beautiful – the face of his mother as he knew it from the portrait his father had, his pa himself, strong and wise; the first time Marie had placed his baby brother in his arms. There was good in the world and it was stronger than evil.

It _was._

While he stood there, building strength to rise above the black anger that threatened to claim him, Lowery left the stable and headed for the hotel. Adam waited until the blond man had entered it and then followed at a safe distance behind. Though he had only a vague idea of what Vickery looked like – gleaned from the ramblings of the man who operated the livery – Adam didn't think he would be hard to spot. He'd look like every physically powerful man he had ever known who preyed on those weaker than himself. He'd look like every bully who had ever tied up or restrained a man and found pleasure in beating him when he couldn't fight back.

He'd look like the face of Hell.

Adam pulled his gun from the holster as he walked, gripping the handle so hard his knuckles went white. The more he thought about these men doing _those_ things to his baby brother – the brother God had given him to teach, to love _and_ protect – the more he had to fight down the instinct to shoot Vickery on sight. Not that the brute didn't deserve it. He did. And it wasn't the law's punishment he feared. No, not that. It was just that death was _too easy_. He wanted Vickery to suffer the way all of those whose lives he had sullied and defiled had suffered.

The way Joe was suffering now.

Pistol in hand Adam moved along the boardwalk in front of the shops and saloons, hugging the shadows, taking care not to be seen. He was almost to the hotel when a sense of movement in the alley beside it caught his attention. The man in black halted and looked and realized there was a slender young man there One who acted much as he did – sticking to the shadows and moving furtively. A young man who had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring back at him. Adam didn't know _how_ he knew, but he did.

It was Joe.

The crazy kid was going to get himself killed.

Adam left the shadows and stepped into the light and opened his mouth to call his brother. As he did, two things happened – Joe jerked back and disappeared into the dark and someone behind him snorted. Instantly on the alert, Adam pivoted on his heel ready for anything.

Well, not quite _anything._

There was no time to duck. One fist struck his chin and another his stomach.

Folding under the assault, he plunged to the ground.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam woke sometime later to soft hands and a gentle voice.

"Adam? Son? Can you hear me?"

Yes, he could hear him _. Seeing_ him was another matter. "Pa?"

Adam pried one swollen eyelid open. He reached up and felt his lip. It was swollen too and bleeding. "I take it I found Vickery?"

"Looks like he done found _you_ , big brother," Hoss said, worry in his voice.

He thought a moment. "Help me up."

"Adam, I was going to send Hoss for Doc Martin," his father said as he felt the older man's hand encircle his arm and lend him strength to rise.

He wobbled a bit and blinked, waiting for his head to clear. There was something he needed to remember. Something a fist in the face had driven out. "What are you two doing here?"

His father got that _look_ – the one he had worn for nineteen years now. "We came to find Joe."

"Little brother done found out about Vickery, Adam," his brother said. "He came to town to find him and –"

Joe! _Dear Lord!_ How could he have forgotten? Adam tossed a horrified look at his father and before either of them could stop him, ran full tilt across the mostly deserted road.

"Adam, wait! Adam!" he heard his father shout.

He ignored him. Adam plunged into the alley and cast about the shadows as if he could part them like a curtain and see where his brother had gone. His only consolation was that the effort wasn't rewarded by finding Joe's battered and bloody corpse. What he did find nearly broke him. Joe's pearl-handled pistol, laying on the ground. Bloodied.

Adam knelt and picked it up and cradled it against him like it was the child he had failed to save.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright hesitated at the end of the alley. The early morning light penetrating it revealed his son, Adam, kneeling on the ground. As Hoss came to his side and began to move past, the silver-haired man put out a hand to stop him.

"Pa?" the big man asked, a world of worry and confusion contained in that one word.

The older man glanced at him. "Stay here, Hoss, or better yet, go into the hotel and ask if anyone saw Griggs Vickery leave – and while you're there, see if you can confirm the description of him."

His son was staring at his brother. "What about Adam?"

"I'll see to Adam." Ben inclined his head toward the hotel. "Now, go."

"Yes, sir."

As he approached his oldest boy, Ben heard a stifled sob. When he placed a hand on his son's shoulder he felt him tremble.

"Son?"

His eldest rose to his feet. He stood before him, head down, like a little boy shamed. Adam drew in a shuddering breath and let it out in a sigh. "I lost him, Pa. I...lost Joe."

Fear gripped him, and not only for Joe. "What do you mean?"

His son shifted to reveal what he had in his hands. It was Joe's gun. There was blood on the handle. Ben took it, looked at it, and then tucked it behind his belt.

Adam's jaw was tight. "They've got him, Pa. Vickery and Jude, they've got him."

Ben blinked. "Jude? You mean Jude Lowery?"

Adam nodded. "Yeah, Pa. Jude. You were right about him all along."

There were mysteries within mysteries here. "Adam, what is this about your brother?"

"I saw him, Pa. Right here." Adam closed his eyes against what his inner eye must be showing him. Joe struck on the back of the head. Joe being beaten and driven into the dirt. Joe being... "I tracked Lowery in from outside of town and watched him go into the hotel. I was following him when I saw someone moving here, in the alley." His son reached up and touched his chin. "Just about the time I realized it was Joe, someone slugged me."

"How long ago was this?"

Adam glanced at the rising sun as he rose to his feet. "Hard to say. Half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes."

"You're _sure_ it was Joe?"

His son swung around to look at him. Adam's hazel eyes were haunted. "It was Joe."

Ben moved past him and began to search the alley for any sign of what had transpired. There had to be something to tell them which way the men who had taken Joe had gone. He'd been at it a minute or so when Adam spoke.

"Pa."

Ben turned to look at him. "Yes, son?"

Adam's face wrinkled with remorse. "I'm sorry, Pa. I should have been able to protect Joe. Now, and two weeks ago." His son closed his eyes and shuddered again, his whole body expressing pain. "I was so close, Pa, _so close_ – seconds away – and I failed him." His eyes opened. "I failed you. I failed the family."

The older man moved to his son's side, sensing he needed rescuing nearly as much as Joseph. Ben touched him and looked into his eyes. "Yes, Adam, you failed."

He felt his eldest flinch.

" _I_ failed too. I left Joseph alone with Phoebe and she told him about Vickery. _I_ sent Joe out into that criminal's arms."

"Pa, no."

"Adam, _yes_ ," he said firmly. "We _all_ fail. You have to let failure be your teacher, not your undertaker. Think of failure as delay, boy, and not defeat." He paused. "It is something we can only avoid by doing nothing."

Adam remained silent for a moment and then seemed to come back to himself. "Thanks, Pa," he said with a shy smile.

He looked so like his mother when he did that.

"Pa?"

They both turned at the sound of Hoss' voice.

"Did you find anything out, son?" Ben asked as he and Adam approached him.

"The clerk at the desk saw Griggs Vickery leave the hotel about an hour back – _with_ Jude Lowery."

Adam nodded. "They're in it together. I don't know entirely how."

"Did anyone know where they went?"

"There was a boy, Pa. He works in the kitchen." Hoss paused to swallow over his fear. "The boy saw the men in the alley slinging another man on a horse. They headed south."

"Did either of them say where they were going?"

"That's the thing, Pa. Vickery mentioned the Ponderosa."

A pit opened in his stomach. Griggs Vickery had Joe.

He wanted Phoebe too.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe awoke to the smell of sweat and horsehair. His back ached and his ribs were on fire. As his brain attempted to process what all of that meant, a pair of rough hands gripped him and dragged him face first across a saddle and then deposited him roughly on the ground.

"Welcome home, Cartwright," a man said, his voice laced with irony.

Joe looked up and saw he _was_ home. For a moment the relief he felt at the sight of the familiar split rail house with its broad beams was more palpable than the pain. But only for a moment. All too quickly the reality of his condition screamed a clarion warning. He'd been beaten again, not badly but precisely, and in places meant to kill.

"Jude, get him up!" a brusque voice ordered.

Seconds later another set of hands gripped him. Whoever it was caught him under the arms, careful to avoid the places that were bruised. Joe turned to confirm what he feared and saw it _was_ Jude Lowery – his _friend_. Jude's face was expressionless.

"Thanks... _buddy_ ," Joe breathed. "Thanks for...nothing."

Jude ignored him. He looked up at the man Joe could only assume was Vickery. "What are you going to do, Griggs?" Jude asked.

His answer was a sneer and another order. "Bring Cartwright inside," the tall man said as he headed for the door. "We'll get the girl and then you'll _see_ what I intend to do."

Lowery didn't move. "Griggs, you said...I could have him. You promised."

Joe frowned. "What?"

"Shut up, Joe," Jude whispered close to his ear. Then he said to Griggs, "He's _mine_. Not yours."

Griggs Vickery strode over to them and loomed above them both. " _You're_ mine, Lowery. You will _always_ be mine. You do what I say or I'll kill your _pretty boy_ right now with my bare hands _– right here_ – and make you watch."

Joe shivered in the man's shadow. He'd seen a lot in his short life – killing and stealing, cheating, and more – but he didn't think he had ever seen _pure_ evil.

Not until now.

"You can kill me, Vickery," Joe snarled, "but you'll be killing yourself. Once my Pa and my brothers know you took me, they'll be here – "

Quicker than thought the villain took him by the collar, ripped him from Lowery's arms, lifted him off of the ground and thrust him against one of the porch poles. As he struggled to escape, Vickery snarled, "I'm counting on it." Then, with a twist of his wrist, the tall man threw him – with force – against the front door of the house. As he lay there, trying to catch his breath, the brute crouched beside him. "You're only alive because old Jude there fancies you. I humored him before, but I tell you, Cartwright, I'm done with that. Tonight, youand that cheating bitch _die_."

"You...you mean Phoebe?" he stammered.

Vickery's eyes narrowed and something passed through them – something beyond the desire to kill. It was a visceral _need_. Griggs Vickery's face puckered like he'd eaten a lemon. "What was it like, _pretty boy?"_ The brute's eye flicked to Jude where he stood to the side, watching, saying nothing. "Having someone _use_ you like you used her?"

Joe's head was ringing. He was having a hard time processing everything. He knew Vickery thought he and Phoebe had known each other, but what was he saying?

Suddenly everything fell into place.

' _You do what I say or I'll kill your pretty boy right now...'_

It hadn't been Vickery. It was Jude.

Jude had...

Joe sucked in air and fought back the tears. He would _not_ cry in front of Vickery. Not now. Not _ever._

Griggs Vickery rose to his feet. He turned to Jude and then indicated him with a nod. "You get Cartwright on his feet, Lowery, and you get him inside or I will kill _both_ of you."

Seconds later Jude was at his side. He put his arms around his waist again and lifted him up. Joe fought to escape him, not wanting him to touch him, not wanting those hands on him again – not wanting to hear _that_ voice.

"Joe," Jude whispered, desperate. "Joe, listen to me. You gotta trust me. I won't let him kill you. I _couldn't_..."

"Trust you?" Joe shot back. " _Why the Hell would I trust you?"_

Lowery's fingers possessively encircled his throat.

"Who else do you have, Joe?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Their horses thundered down the Virginia City road, Ben Cartwright and his sons. Like a force of nature they descended on their home, certain of their cause, unsure of their success, but united in their desire to save the one they loved. Surely God would not abandon them when their cause was just, when their desire was to see justice overcome injustice. Good triumph over evil.

To see the angels reign.

Ben glanced at the sons who rode to either side of him, their faces grim, determined, their hearts bent on rescuing their baby brother. They, like he, felt the call of the ties that bound them – the call of love and of blood.

These men – these animals – had not only taken Joe, but now they invaded their home, threatening to sully the place where they all found rest with the blood of one of their own.

Ben Cartwright glanced at his eldest who nodded and then at Hoss, who did the same. Digging spurs into horse flesh they urged their mounts on, calling upon the tired animals to give everything they had, to give it _all_ , even if it meant their deaths.

Just as they would do.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

FOURTEEN

The first thing Joe saw as he was dragged into the house was Hop Sing laying on the floor near the kitchen, his hands and feet bound, his mouth gagged. The second was Phoebe. She had been flung on the settee and remained there in a tiny heap, softly crying. Jude deposited him next to her and then went to check upstairs, ordered by Vickery to make sure no one else was at home. Joe didn't think anyone was as his pa and brothers' horses were gone, but he held his breath, waiting, frightened that his recklessness would bring death to someone he loved.

Phoebe moaned and Joe scooted closer to her, wanting to make physical contact so that – even in her foggy state – she would know she was _not_ alone. He pressed his body against hers and felt as much as heard her draw in a shuddering breath.

"I'm so...sorry...Joe," Phoebe whispered.

"Don't give up hope," he pleaded, his lips pressed against her hair. "There's _always_ hope."

Vickery was standing by the gun rack, examining his pa's rifles. "Lowery!" he called. "What's taking you so long. Get down here!"

Jude appeared at the top of the staircase. "All clear up here," he said as he started down the steps. "What do you want, Griggs?"

The tall man in the suit palmed one of the rifles and then moved to the area of the hearth. "I have a present for you, Jude."

As Lowery hit the floor, he asked, "What _present?"_

Vickery turned toward him. "You have to come here to get it."

Jude advanced a few steps into the room and halted.

Vickery crooked a finger.

Like a moth to the flame Jude Lowery moved forward, halting only when the tall man's muscular frame blocked his way. "I'm going to give you what you want," Vickery said, "Cartwright's life." As Jude visibly relaxed the bully held out the gun. "It's yours to take."

Jude shook his head and stepped back. "No. Not this time, Griggs. Not _him_."

"Why is he any different from the ones before? From the Fitzgerald boy you fancied? You have to choose, Jude," the tall man said softly. "Cartwright or me. You can't have both."

"No..."

"If you love _him_ , Lowery, you're going to have to kill me." Vickery's voice was soft as a snake's underbelly. "If you love _me_ , then kill him."

It was clear a rift was opening between the two men. Joe glanced at Phoebe where she slumped beside him. She was incapable of running even if an opportunity to escape presented itself. He didn't want to leave her. Or Hop Sing. Short of running, there was one thing he could try –

He could try to open the rift as wide as possible.

"Jude!" he called out. As both men turned toward him, he began to plead. "Don't listen to him. Jude. Don't let him kill me. I _want_ to be with you."

Vickery strode over to him and backhanded him so hard his teeth rattled.

"Shut up, Cartwright," the bully ordered as he leaned in and closed his fingers, not around Joe's throat, but Phoebe's. "You keep your mouth shut or Iwillsnap _her_ neck." Vickery sneered. "You _know_ I will."

Joe winced as the redhead gasped. "All right," he agreed. "Let her go!"

Vickery barked a laugh and released her. Phoebe made a little sound and then pitched sideways unconscious. Joe caught her and laid her head on the settee arm. It was probably for the best. What he was about to do was dangerous and he didn't want her to pay if it ended up being a mistake.

As Vickery stepped away, Joe turned his attention to Jude Lowery who lingered near the stairs. He sought and held the other man's gaze, not letting go. Joe put everything he could of the pain and fear and helplessness he had felt for the last two weeks into that gaze, hoping it would make Lowery think he was vulnerable, that he couldn't make it without him – that he needed _him_ to survive.

That he _needed_ him more than Griggs Vickery did.

A myriad of emotions flashed in Jude's blue eyes, all of them desperate and most of them misplaced. As Vickery once again offered him the gun, the blond man shook his head and took a step back.

"Don't...make...me... _choose_ , Griggs," he warned, biting off each word. "You may not like _what_ I choose."

Vickery's response was cold as the grave.

"You _have_ no choice, you worm. You're _nothing_ without me, Lowery, and you know it. What are you gonna do? Shack up with _pretty boy_ here?" Vickery snorted. "His pa and brothers would rip you apart for even _thinking_ it." The bully raised his hands and formed them into fists. "You've felt these before. Since you want it so bad, I'll _give_ you a choice. You can watch me break him in two or you can kill Cartwright with that," he indicated the rifle, "and make it quick and merciful. Either way he has to die. He _has_ to die before he fingers both of us."

Jude's body shook from head to toe. He hung his head. "All right, I'll take him outside –"

"No," Vickery said. "You'll do it here."

Joe stiffened as Griggs Vickery headed his way. The pair had not bound him – they probably thought he was too weak to attempt an escape. He glanced at Phoebe, knowing the action he was about to take would either doom or save her. Still, there was little else he could do.

If he was dead, _she_ was dead too.

As Vickery reached the settee Joe rose as if ready to meet his fate. At the last second – as the villain reached for him – he appeared to stumble and then, with everything he had left in him, he struck the tall man below his center of gravity, throwing him off balance. Vickery tumbled over the settee table. He struck his head on the edge of hearth and fell to the floor dazed.

Joe shot a look at Jude who appeared to be just as stunned and then bolted for the front door. With a quick prayer, asking for protection for Phoebe, he threw it open and stumbled out into the rising light. Where should he go? Where in all of the Ponderosa would he be safe?

Where –

A bellow sounded from the house. Vickery was awake.

There was nothing to do but run.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The light was breaking in the east. They were almost there. _Almost_. The Ponderosa lay no more than ten minutes before them. This ride to his ranch had seemed to Ben the longest in his life. What would they find when they arrived? Could he muster the courage to open the door? Images of his youngest laying on the floor in a pool of blood, his neck twisted, his body broken and the life gone from his slender form, swam before his waking eyes.

If the worst happened – could he _ever_ walk through that door again?

The three of them had decided to split when they reached the ranch and to approach it from different sides. The plan was to enter the house from the back, front, and side, and to close the net, hopefully trapping Vickery and Lowery within. Since men like Vickery were, in fact, cowards, and usually cared only for their own skin, it was his hope that they would surrender. If not – if it _came_ to it – he was ready to kill. His home and his son were being threatened. It would be self-defense, and if a jury was called and decided otherwise, it would be worth it. He would go to prison.

His son would be alive.

As the ranch appeared through the overhanging branches, Adam reached out and caught Buck's reins and drew the animal to a halt.

"Pa!" he said in a terse whisper. "Pa! _Joe!"_

Ben looked just in time to see his youngest son turn a corner and disappear.

Griggs Vickery came roaring out of the house directly behind him.

Adam's gun was out and aimed in a half-second, but it was too late.

Both men vanished into the trees.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe heard Griggs Vickery beating the brush behind him, bellowing anger and hate. There was no doubt in his mind, if the bully caught him he was dead. He was smaller than Vickery and probably quicker on his feet, but he was also beyond exhausted and breathing hard and it wouldn't be very long before he stumbled or did something stupid and that would be it. Glancing behind, he saw a tree branch bend and then snap up. He was only seconds ahead of the other man. He had to find a place to hide. Some sort of bolt hole where he could disappear and then maybe Vickery would pass him by.

Vickery _and_ Jude.

It still tore at him, the betrayal, but he didn't really have time to process it. All he could do now was put one foot in front of the other and push past endurance to keep running and running so his heart could beat one more minute, so he could draw another breath. So –

A shot rang out, the bullet striking a tree near his head.

Vickery had a gun.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The three of them were off their horses. As Adam sped off into the trees Ben sent Hoss into the house. His son returned less than a minute later to tell him that he had found Hop Sing and left him to look after Phoebe who was alive but in bad shape.

Two heartbeats later they were running after Adam and Joe.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The man Adam followed crashed through the trees like an enraged bull, leaving a trail a greenhorn could follow, obviously beyond caring whether or not he was caught – which made him all the more dangerous. Here he was again – a split second behind – a split second that could mean the difference between life and death for Joe. If Vickery caught his brother before he got there, the brute could snap his neck in a heartbeat. He couldn't fail this time – he couldn't risk losing that _second._

Couldn't risk losing Joe.

Pushing his weary body even harder Adam put on a burst of speed, outdistancing his father and brother even as he heard them call his name.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe halted – if for only a second – at the sound of his pa's voice. He heard it ring out through the trees, calling for Adam. They were here! Pa and his brothers were _here!_ They'd come to rescue him, to bring him to safety, to put an end to the threat of Griggs Vickery and Jude Lowery, and to the horror of what had happened that night two weeks before.

As another shot rang out, striking the ground near his feet, his pa shouted again. Hesitant to turn away from that beloved voice Joe began to run, moving backwards for the first few feet and then turning –

Just in time to feel his foot slip into a badger hole.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam ran for all he was worth. He'd almost caught up to Vickery. In fact the tail of the villain's expensive suit coat had been within arm's length when the tall man let out a whoop of triumph and bolted forward faster than he would have thought possible. Adam stumbled, but righted himself and pressed forward, his heart thundering in his chest, pounding against the bone, working to drive the breath and sense out of him, to make him fall –

To make him _fail_ Joe again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe felt Vickery grip his collar and haul him up. He cried out as his ankle twisted in the hole, the bones breaking. He heard his father shout again in the distance, still searching for Adam. So close, Joe thought as Vickery's hands closed on his throat, so close...

And yet, forever away.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright was out of breath but he kept running. Sweat streamed down his face and the face of the son who ran beside him. This was one of those moments where life hung by a fragile thread and death loomed above holding a sword. He called out to Adam but his eldest son ignored him. He could only hope that meant he had his brother in sight.

As he ran, the older man prayed to the God he loved, _'_ _Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; let your good Spirit lead me on level ground._

' _Let your good Spirit lead me to my son.'_

 _ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

Adam halted. Griggs Vickery was leaning over his brother, a rifle in one hand and the other closing on Joe's throat. His brother wasn't struggling and that opened a pit in his stomach from which a blackness rolled that threatened to take him with it.

"Vickery!" he shouted as he pointed his gun at him.

The bastard released Joe and let him fall to the ground. Vickery straightened up then and turned toward him, a sneer lifting his lip.

"Get away from Joe! Now!" Adam ordered.

Vickery spread his arms wide. "Go ahead, Cartwright. _Murder_ me and I'll see you in Hell!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright broke through the trees with Hoss at his side. They saw Adam, and then Joe lying motionless on the ground. Griggs Vickery was standing between them, rifle in hand, baiting Adam to shoot.

The older man looked at his son. Hoss nodded.

Three bullets struck the fiend at the same time.

They never knew which one killed him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam pushed the dead man aside and knelt beside his brother. He lacked the courage to feel for a pulse. Joe was so pale, so... _still._ The marks from Vickery's fingers were growing dark on his brother's throat. He glanced at his father and other brother who had come to stand silently at his side.

"Pa?"

The older man did not hesitate but came and knelt beside him. He reached out and placed his hand on Joe's chest and then turned to him with a weak smile.

"He's alive, Adam. You saved him. You _saved_ Joe."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The ranch house was not far away, but the walk through the woods bearing Joe's battered form back was one of the longest any of them had ever taken. Hop Sing was waiting for them as they entered. Efficient as ever, the Chinese man had returned Phoebe to her bed and then roused one of the hands and sent him to town for the doctor. They bore Joe up to his bed and tucked him in tight, leaving an exhausted Adam to keep watch. Then he and Hoss descended the stairs. It wasn't over.

There was still the matter of Jude Lowery.

Hop Sing told them upon their arrival at the house that, upon waking, Vickery had ordered Jude to go with him and when he refused, had used the butt of the rifle to strike Lowery and send him to the ground. The blond man had lain there senseless for some time and then slowly climbed to his feet. He'd gone to the sofa to check on Phoebe and then, to their cook's surprise, had untied him before stumbling out the door.

Ben wondered now if Lowery had followed – if he had been watching when Vickery tried to kill his son and was killed himself instead. Was Jude still in the woods beyond the house? Or had he run away, fearing _he_ would be next?

The answer to the question was none of the above. When he and Hoss found the blond man a few hours later, tucked in the crook of a tumble of rocks only a few hundred feet out from the house, Jude was dead.

He had blown his brains out.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Strong hands gripped his shoulders as Joe coughed and pitched over to one side. He started to panic, but then he recognized the room he was in. He also recognized the touch. He had known it for nineteen years now – it and its assurances and strength.

Forcing a smile, his throat raw and rough, he said, "Hey, big...brother."

"Here, Joe, take a drink." Adam lifted him up and held the cup to his lips and then let him down gently so his sore body rested against the pillows on his bed. "Doc Martin says you shouldn't talk."

He blinked back pain-induced tears. "Vickery?"

"Got what he deserved," Adam replied, his jaw tight.

"You?"

Adam snorted. "All of us, Joe. _All_ of us."

He hated to be treated like a little kid but there were times, like this, when being able to trust to others to keep him safe gave him a _reason_ for being the youngest. Sleep was beckoning – _pulling_ at him really – but he fought it off.

Joe drew a breath, almost afraid to ask. "Jude?"

His brother hesitated. "Dead too. Now, Joe, come on. Settle down. You need to rest. Doctor's orders."

Adam stood. He lifted his brother up gently again and repositioned his pillow. As he did, Joe reached out and caught his arm.

"Thanks, big brother."

The black-haired man stared at him for a moment and then did something he hadn't done since Joe was a little boy. He bent down and brushed his brother's forehead with his lips.

"Thank God, Joe. Thank _God_."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben closed the door behind him, leaving Doctor Martin with Phoebe. The girl had passed a rough night, but appeared to be mending and Paul thought she would make it. Joseph didn't appear to be in any danger, though the physician said it was close. The blows Griggs Vickery had given him were meant to do damage to his internal organs, but for some reason had failed to do so. The older man ran a hand across his face and glanced up. "For some reason," he muttered.

God had something yet for his son to do.

Crossing to the big blue chair Ben dropped into it, weary beyond expressing in words. As he did Hoss came out of the kitchen carrying a steaming pot of coffee. He looked at him and asked, "You want a cup, Pa?"

Ben considered it and then nodded. After returning to the house with Joe there had been so much to do that none of them had gone to bed. They had caught a few hours sleep here and there in the chairs by the fire, but for the most part had been up twenty-four hours. Once Paul finished with Phoebe they would go upstairs to rest. He supposed coffee was not the smartest course considering. It just sounded good.

"Thanks, son," he said as he accepted a cup.

Hoss filled his own cup and, after placing the pot on the side table, sat down on the edge of the big one before the fire. After a second he sighed and shook his head. "For some reason, I cain't stop thinkin' about Jude Lowery, Pa."

He took a sip and then nodded. "I feel the same way."

"What'd he go and _kill_ hisself for?"

Ben sighed. It was hard to give even an ounce of humanity to a man who did what Jude Lowery had done, and yet, he _was_ a man. "It sounds like Jude was completely dominated by Vickery from the time he was a young impressionable boy, and though the choices Lowery made were his – and were _entirely_ wrong – one has to wonder how much _choice_ he had in making them." At Hoss' look, he added, "I'm not making excuses for the horrible thing Jude did. There are no excuses. But there are reasons. Each man fights the demons within. Jude's won."

"You mean he couldn't live with what he done?"

"Apparently Joe was not the first victim. Other than the Fitzgerald boy, Roy thinks Lowery and Vickery had repeated this pattern at least a half-dozen times, settling into a new town, choosing their victims. attacking them for power and...sick pleasure, and then moving on." Ben glanced at the guest room. "Phoebe proved to be Vickery's undoing."

"He loved her?"

"Only as a man of that nature could. Griggs Vickery had no love of a woman and her gentle spirit and beauty, no desire to walk and live by her side, no _will_ to give to her more than he would take. Vickery wanted only to dominate, to possess, and to control. When he found out Phoebe _loved_ Joe instead of him, he couldn't take it." Ben drew in a breath. "He decided he had to eliminate his rival and did it in the most despicable manner. Vickery didn't want Joseph dead in the beginning, just humiliated and destroyed."

"That changed 'cause we was on to him, right?"

"Yes. Once Vickery realized that his part in the attack on Joe was known, he decided he had to eliminate anyone who could identify him. Phoebe knew him. Joe knew him from the attack. They both had to die."

Hoss paused. "It sure was close, Pa."

" _Too_ close," the older man agreed. "But it's done now. Your brother is alive and safe."

The big man looked at him. "Is it, Pa? Is it 'done'? What happened to Joe, well, it ain't a thing a man can easily accept."

Ben closed his eyes, thinking of Thomas Slade. Thomas was introspective and unlike Joe, had a cautious personality. The naval officer rarely took risks but stood on solid ground and, when that ground was shaken, had not been able to survive. "Your brother, Hoss, wounds easily and feels things deeply, but he has a resiliency I have seldom seen in a man before. Joe's strong and, most of all, fearless. Your brother looks the crouching mountain lion in the eye and then counts to ten before he shoots." Ben shook his head with affection. "If anyone can survive this, it's Joe. And you have to remember, he has _us."_

"What about Adam, Pa?"

Ah, yes. What about Adam?

Adam was like Joe in that he felt things deeply, but he had a harder shell. The problem with that was, while it kept his oldest from being easily wounded on the outside, it also keep the wounds _inside_. "Adam will be all right, but we'll have to look for ways to help him. He won't ask."

At that moment a sound on the stair attracted his attention and he turned to find the latest topic of their discussion descending.

"How's Joe?" Hoss asked, rising.

"Is that fresh coffee?" Adam asked, pointing toward the pot.

"Sure as shootin'. You want a cup?"

Adam smiled as he took a seat. "More than anything."

"Son, you should go to bed," the older man advised.

"I will, Pa, soon as Doc Martin fills us in on both Phoebe and Joe."

"How _is_ your brother?"

"Sleeping." Adam paused. "Joe asked about Jude Lowery."

His father nodded. "What did you tell him?"

"That he was dead," his eldest said bluntly.

As Hoss handed the cup to his brother, Ben said, "You have to let go of the hate, son. It can't hurt Jude – he's beyond it now – but it _will_ eat you up inside."

Adam put the cup down and leaned forward, dropping his hands between his knees. "I know, Pa, it's just..." He hesitated and then said, "I can't say I know for certain, but I believe I know what...this would do to me. When I think of Joe going through the rest of his life wondering, maybe doubting himself..." He watched as his son's fingers balled into fists and he began to shake. "No one – no _man_ has a right to do that to another man."

Ben walked over to his eldest and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Adam, no man can see into another man's soul. All we can do for Joe is be here for him when he needs us – and son, he needs _us_ whole."

Adam's hand fell on his. "I know, Pa. I know."

At that moment the door to Phoebe's room opened and Doc Martin stepped out.

"Now, come on, son. Let's talk to Paul."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The sun set and he went to bed, but he didn't stay there long. Awakened by a nightmare of loss, Ben Cartwright rose from his bed, put on his robe, and headed for the stairs. He was just about to descend when a sound from the other end of the hall drew him that way. Moving quietly, he followed it to the door of his youngest's room. He couldn't be certain, but he thought Joseph was crying.

Opening the door a crack, he called Joe's name softly, giving his son time to compose himself before he entered the room.

"Come in, Pa."

Ben entered and went to him. After brushing his son's battered forehead with his lips, he sat in the chair beside him.

"How are you, son?"

Joe was halfway up the pillows, not quite sitting, but not laying down. His covers had fallen away exposing a chest covered with fresh bruises. The imprint of fingers on the tender flesh of his throat were there again as they had been at the beginning, a reminder of the nature of the men who had attacked him and their crime.

His son shrugged. "I'm not _sure_ how I am, Pa."

Ben sat back in the chair. "Can you tell me about it?"

Joe pursed his lips. A second later he shook his head. After that, they sat in silence until the boy turned to look at him. His son's voice was rough, ragged from the attack and the emotion behind the age-old question he asked.

"Why do things like this happen, Pa? I thought the Good Book said all things work together for those who love God."

Ben paused before answering. "I'm not sure I have an answer to that, Joe. Sometimes the only answer is _not_ to know. When you know your Father in Heaven is all powerful and all seeing, then you know that – no matter what happens – it _is_ within His will."

Joe swallowed. "How can _this_ be within His will?" he asked in a small voice.

The older man leaned forward and covered his son's hand with his own. "I asked the same questions when your mother died, leaving me alone to rear three boys. Had I done something wrong? Was God punishing me? How could the death of such a wonderful woman at such a young age be His _will?"_ Ben paused. "You know, son, I never found the answers, but what I _did_ find was peace in the knowledge that God was in control."

Joe looked down. "I don't feel at peace, Pa." His jaw tightened. "I'm..angry. At God. And at..." he drew a deep breath. "Jude."

"Joe, look at me." He waited until his son obeyed. "God can take your anger. It isn't a sin to be angry, it isn't a sin to doubt, it's only a sin when you shut God out. _He's_ your father too," he said softly, "and He too had a hurting child. His child died. He saved mine." Ben fought back tears. "You go ahead and be angry. I'll do enough praising for the both of us."

Joe was silent a moment. "Adam said Jude was dead."

"Yes."

Joe's green eyes shot to his face. "I'm glad."

"Are you son?"

"He got what he deserved."

Ben hesitated. "It's what we all deserve, Joe," he said at last.

"Pa? _What?"_

"Don't get me wrong," Ben continued as anger infused his words and he felt once again his finger on the trigger and saw the look in Griggs Vickery's eyes when he knew he was going to die. "Vickery and Lowery deserved to pay for what they did. But while Vickery was pure evil, I think Jude lost his way. You said he didn't want to kill you."

"That's because he wanted _me_ , Pa!" Joe snapped. "Like a girl!"

"Joe, don't let Jude's demons become your own," he said evenly, concerned for the first time since their talk had begun. "What Jude wanted has _nothing_ to do with what you are. He had to be sick or he wouldn't have done what he did."

"You mean what he did to me?" his son asked, his voice tense.

"I mean what Jude did to himself. Joseph, Jude Lowery killed himself."

"He...what?"

"In the end, he couldn't live with what he had done."

Joe's lower lip trembled like it had when he was a little boy. When he spoke, a bit of the fire had gone out of his tone. "Well, _I_ have to live with it."

Ben left the chair and sat at his son's side on the bed. "Yes, you do, and it will make you stronger." At Joe's look he went on, "Joseph, no matter how much falls on us, we have to keep plowing ahead. That's the only way to keep the road clear. Yes, you'll carry scars from this – we _all_ will – but scars are not signs of weakness, they are the signs of survival and of _endurance_."

Joe sniffed and the tears began to fall.

Ben gathered his boy into his arms and waited for the calm after the storm.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

EPILOGUE

It was early morning and outside the windows of the Ponderosa ranch house snow was falling. It blanketed the land, hiding the scars of a troublesome autumn and washing everything white and new. Joe Cartwright had awakened early that morning and was ready for the day to begin. Though the blows inflicted by Griggs Vickery had not proved fatal, they had been serious. His recovery had been a long one. This was the first day he was to be allowed out of the house and he was raring to go in spite of the fact that he was still sore and had to use a crutch.

It was also the day before Christmas.

As he slowly descended the stairs to the scent of coffee and flapjacks, Joe was surprised to find he was not the only one too excited to remain asleep. Phoebe Howath was curled up in one corner of the settee. She had a throw over her lap and a book in her hand. The volume lay open, but she wasn't reading. The redhead's eyes were focused elsewhere.

On that soft silent fall of snow.

When she heard the wooden crutch strike the floor Phoebe turned and looked his way. A smile lit her striking face when she saw it was him. The redhead held out a hand to ask, _'Sit with me?'_

He answered her question with a smile.

When Joe reached the settee he leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on Phoebe's head before dropping onto the cushion beside her. "You look beautiful!" he said as he anchored the crutch on the sofa arm, and meant it. She was dressed in the deep sapphire blue dress his father had bought her to replace the old one that had been ruined. Pa had given it to her early so she would have it to wear for the party tonight. Their friends were coming over to celebrate the advent of Jesus' birth with them, but the party also served another purpose – to say 'goodbye'.

It was Phoebe's last night at the Ponderosa.

The redhead blushed at the compliment. It was really cute. It seemed Phoebe had put the Bucket of Blood and the life it entailed behind, and chosen to claim the life that had been intended for her. When her mother heard what had happened, she had come to the Ponderosa and for the last two weeks had tended her child. The older woman, whose name was Hebe, had left that morning to fetch her younger children so they could enjoy the night's festivities and then, as a family, go home. As Joe looked at Phoebe, sitting there, with the morning light touching her golden-red hair and setting it on fire, he wondered how he was going to stand by and let her leave.

"How are you feeling, Little Joe?" she asked.

It had been almost a month since Griggs Vickery had nearly killed them both. Like his pa said there were scars, but they were fading.

"Like I could wrestle a grizzly," he boasted.

Phoebe laughed. She reached up to touch one of the physical scars Vickery's last beating had left – a little one to the left side of his mouth. "You look like you tackled one already." Phoebe drew a breath and let it out in a sigh. "And all because of me." Her face wrinkled with pain. " _Everything_ happened because of me."

Joe took her hand and pressed it between his own. "Phoebe, no. Don't do that. _Don't_ take it all on yourself." He drew his own steadying breath. "Like Pa says, everything happens for a reason. Look, you, your ma and sister and brother are a family again."

"But at _what_ expense?" she sniffed.

Joe squeezed her fingers. "I'm okay, Phoebe. You just you worry about _you."_

The redhead held his gaze. She pressed her lips against his knuckles and then said quietly, "Little Joe Cartwright, I love you."

He didn't know how she meant it, whether as a kind of a brother or a friend or something more. That was all right.

He didn't know how he meant it either.

"I love you too, Phoebe," Joe said as he took her chin in his hand and leaned forward and kissed her.

On the lips.

"Well, if that don't beat all. I guess baby brother is _all_ healed," a familiar voice cracked.

Joe turned to find Hoss and Adam leaning on the staircase railing, looking down at them. "Hey, there, brothers!" he called.

"Don't you think you might be taking things a little fast, little brother?" Adam asked.

Joe cocked one eyebrow. "Fast?" As the pair descended, he exclaimed, "Why, I've known Phoebe for almost two _months!"_

"So, I suppose you have Phoebe booked for every dance tonight, even with that thing?" his older brother asked, indicating the crutch.

"'Course I have."

Hoss shook his head. "And you promised to take her on a midnight walk?"

"Two, in fact," Joe smiled. "Tonight and tomorrow."

Phoebe smiled. "Remember, Little Joe, I won't be here tomorrow."

All three sobered instantly. Joe turned and touched her face again. "I know. I've been let out, remember? I'm gonna look _you_ up tomorrow night!"

"Young lady, do you need rescuing?"

Joe laughed as he turned to find his father emerging from the wing of the house that held the kitchen. "You been bribing Hop Sing to spike the punch, Pa?" he asked.

"Giving him the recipe, actually." The silver-haired man moved into the Great Room and turned to their guest. "How are you feeling today, Phoebe?"

She looked from him to Adam, to Hoss, and then back to their father. "How else could a woman feel when surrounded by four handsome chivalrous men, but completely happy and content?" The redhead paused and then added softly, "How I will _miss_ you all!"

His father went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "We will miss you too, but it's time for the next chapter in your life to begin. I'm glad you decided to take me up on my proposal."

Their pa had offered to set Phoebe up in business. It seemed she had a real flare for making dresses and was going to try running a shop of her own in the town where her mother lived.

"It is more than I deserve, Ben," she said humbly.

Joe looked up to find his father looking directly at him. "You're wrong, Phoebe. It is less than you deserve for what you did for Joseph, and for all of us. _Far_ less."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The party was a success. Everyone had a glorious time singing and dancing, eating and drinking, and when it came time for everyone to go Phoebe went too, leaving them for her own family and the promise of a new, clean, and _free_ life.

Ben had supervised the cleaning-up – or rather, cleaned up himself along with Hop Sing. It was something he actually enjoyed doing from time to time as it let him spend time with his old friend. At the end of it, long after the sun had set and as the passing day was pushing into the new one, he stepped out on to the porch and was surprised to find Joe sitting in the chair by the table, waiting for the new day to dawn.

Crossing over to him, he touched his head. "Joseph," he said.

His youngest looked up at him. "Hey, Pa."

"How are you?" It was a question it seemed he asked at least once a day. This time he got a different answer.

"I'm okay, Pa. Really, I'm okay."

Moving to the table, he took a seat. "Oh?"

"I was reading one of Adam's books." Joe paused and laughed at his face. "You know, I _do_ read, Pa – from time to time."

He laughed too. "What were you reading?"

Joe looked at the leather-bound tome. "It's one by Thomas Paine."

"That's deep, boy."

His son was silent a moment. "Well, Adam gave it to me. He said it helped him."

"Really? What is the matter of it?"

Joe looked at the book and then opened to the place held by a blue ribbon. "This part Adam marked, it's about what it is to be a real man."

Ben drew in a breath. What was Adam thinking?

"You want me to read it to you, Pa?"

He nodded.

Joe raised the book to where the light cast by the lantern overhead illuminated the open pages. Still, when his son read it, it seemed he already knew the passage by heart.

"It says, 'The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection.'" Joe closed the book and looked up at him. Then his son smiled, that smile that he had always known and not a pale reflection of it.

Everything _was_ going to be all right.


End file.
